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THE BLEMIEHTONS; 


D0IT1K6S BY THE WAYSIDE. 


BY 


THE REVEREND JOSEPH J 


.i 


ICHOLSON 



NEW YORK: 

DANA AND COMPANY, 381, BROADWAY. 

LONDON : 

SAMPSON LOW, SON AND COMPANY. 

1856 .^ ^ 


1 


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Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1856, 

By DANA AND COMPANY, 

In the Clerk’s Oflace of the District Court of the United States for the Southern 

District of New York. 


I 


B. C. VALENTINE, 
Stkrbottpeb and ELBOTBOTTI'IST, 
17 DutcL-st., cor. Pulton, 

Nkw York. 


K 


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V 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

CHAPTER I. — Introductort, 7 

11. — Musings bj the Way. An Incident. Reminiscen- 
ces, 12 

III. — Some of Life’s Heart-aches. Mr. Ardent. Making 

a Mistake, 24 

IV. — Mr. Lovegood on the Philosophy of Birds. 

Sketches from Nature, 89 

V. — A Splendid Ball at Mrs. Blemmerton’s. Revela- 

tions of Character, 62 

VI. — A Further Insight into the Character of the Blem- 

mertons. A Vestry-meeting. Obstinate People, 69 

VII. — Mr. Lovegood; his Habits, and his Sanctum, 83 

VIH. — A Curt Letter. A Fox-hunt ; Foxish People ; as 

Cunning as a Fox, 96 

IX. — Mr. Blemmerton doing a Hard Thing. A Surprise, 

that does not set ■well. Mr. Friendly, 110 

X. — ^The Blemmertons in Trouble. Cogitation. The 

Training of Children, 120 

XL — Mr. Lovegood’s Early Troubles. The Communion 

of Saints, 136 

XII. — A Dash of Pretence. Parochial Troubles. Mr. 

Lovegood’s First Sermon in St. ’s, 164 

XIII. — ^The Grantners. Revelation. Family Trials 170 

XIV. — Old Aunt Judy’s Death. The Colored Population 

of the South, eared for by the Church, 182 

XV. — Clerical Triala Clerical Pleasures, The Sunday 

School, 188 


4 : 


CONTENTS. 


pAGn 

XVL — Political Hustings. Mr. Blemmerton before the 

People. A Sickness worse than Sea-sickness,. . 200 

XVII. — A Death-bed ; and a Discovery, 206 

XVIII, — Female Education. Christian Nurture, 213 

XIX. — A Stomachic Character. A Decision on Sincerity. 

A Sham Courtship, 222 

XX. — Duck-Shooting. A Wild-Goose Chase, in which 

Dr. Riproarer will play a Part, 241 

XXI. — Kite-flying. A Flash School, 250 

XXII. — A Church School. Happy Girls. Pleasant Scenes, 260 

XXHI. — Gossiping. Pictures from Life. How to get 

Money for Church Purposes, from the Blem- 
mertons, 268 

XXIV. — A New Idea, A Case of Casuistry. Mr. Straggler, 
the Missionary from the West. Some Disclo- 
sures, 2Y8 

XXV. — Mr. Nochurch’s Donation to Mr, Straggler. Mr. 

Friendly’s Hospitalities. God’s Providence illus- 
trated. Mr. Straggler’s Practical Conversation 
with Mr. Blemmerton, 293 

XXVI. — Showing Agnes’s Progress at Mrs. Densmore’s. 

Something more about Mr. Ben Slocum, Dr. 
Riproarer, and Dr. Skyrocket, 309 

XXVII. — A Discovery An Irish Row. A Moral of Charity, 318 

XXVHI. — Mr. Jonathan Heartful again. A New Story. Mr. 

Lovegood, and the Terrible Bursting of a Vol- 
cano, 329 

XXIX. — A Glance at Mr. Lovegood’s Sermon on Dives and 
Lazarus. One of its Results. A Ticklish Case 
in the Nochurch Family. Rev. Mr. Hard worker 
and his Inimitable Psalmody. Church Music. 
Some Account of the Debt of Gratitude due by 
the Church to Mr. Hardworker, for its Improve- 
ment, 83T 

XXX. — A Predicament. Mr. Slopill with sawdust in his 


CONTENTS. 5 

PAGE ' 

eyes. Gossiping. Mr. Lovegood married. A 

Terrible Surprise. Smelling-bottles, etc., 354 

XXXI. — Agnes Wallace at School and at Home. Mr. 

Heartful. A Ride ; a Courtship ; and a Failure, 365 
XXXH. — Jonathan Heartful in Congress. Affairs at the 
Rectory, not so pleasant. Tattling, Jealous- 
minded^Young Ladies. A Letter from Congress, 

etc., 372 

XXXIII. — Agnes in her New Sphere. Parting. Mr. Love- 

good’s Opinion of the Case, 380 

XXXIV. — Agnes in her New Employment. A Hint to Shop- 
keepers, and Gentlemen and Ladies of the Yard- 
stick, in general. A Denouement at the Rec- 
tory, 389 

XXXV. — Coming Events cast their Shadows before them. 

Letter from Mr. Heartful. Revelations, 399 

XXXVI. — A Case of Superstition, showing how Mr. Ben 
Slocum became fully persuaded that he was to 
become the Guardian of Agnes’s Fortune. A 
Scented Letter. Mr. Lovegood saying a Hard 

Word, 405 

XXXVII. — Closing Scenes. Parting Clouds. Merry Children, 412 
XXX VIIL— Conclusion, 416 


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THE BLEMMERTONS; 

OE, 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


CHAPTER 1. 

INTRODUCTOET. 

You ask me for some lines from my ‘‘ Dottings by the 
Wayside,” of the many reminiscences which lie clus- 
tered in my heart. 

I grant the request, and yet not without misgivings ; 
for, my experience in life has been far too superficial, 
transient, and shallow, to enable me to say aught, I fear, 
for your entertainment. And yet I write, — write, be- 
cause writing is my trade, — a good trade when well fol- 
lowed, but, in the present instance, in very clumsy 
hands, (in fact, if it must be told, the tools are not good, 
nor are the brains, the pen, nor the ink, of the best or- 
der, and I wish to improve them all veiy much, but 
especially the former ) — I write, then, I say, because 
writing is my trade, — my meat, my drink, my daily 
bread, — write, not that I expect to entertain, please, or 
profit you ; but because I cannot help myself ! 

“No thanks to you, then,” you say. 


10 THE BLEMMEKTONS; OK, 

is seen by contact, as when the parting rays of the set- 
ting sun linger behind, to play with the cloud which 
hangs above the horizon, you behold, in the one picture, 
the glories of light and the glories of darkness ! If 
the figure appear involved and enigmatical, I have only 
to say, I intended it to be so. But it has a meaning, 
which, with your permission, will in due time come out. 
I pause not for explanations. I write from shadows and 
images in the heart, and the heart will understand them ! 

I felt, I say, as though my old-fashioned, homely 
ways, would contrast strangely, if not ludicrously, with 
the elegance and refinement to which I was about to 
be introduced. It is ever so with those, at least, who 
do not fancy that they are wiser than all the world be- 
sides ; and who shrink from the fearful responsibility 
of setting themselves up as paragons of perfection, or 
as patterns for the imitation of their fellow-men. I had 
a strange, horrid presentiment of failure, of mortifica- 
tion, that oppressed my spirits, as a deadly incubus. 
Four days did I labor to cast ofip this oppressive feeling, 
but without success; it was present to my thoughts, 
waking and sleeping. 

How could I meet the “lions,” the beau-ideals of 
fashion and elegant accomplishments, unmoved ? In 
my silliness, I forgot that the heart, the mind, the intel- 
lect, make the man ! What had I to do with such 
meaningless things, as the manner of a bow, or of the 
entrance into a room, or the conventional formalities ol 
an introduction ! Fie upon me, for such a folly ! I had 
a big heart in my body, full of. the kind and genial 
warmth of life, and ready to run out to heart wherever 
met. What needed I more? I had a head, which, though 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


11 


\ 


yoHng, was stored with gleanings from the Book of Life, 
and from many written pages of the good and wise, that 
had cost them years of intellectual labor. And I had a 
tongue, that never stammered nor faltered, when it was 
called into service. And yet I was frightened by a 
folly! 

I was younger then than I am now, and, consequent- 
ly, did not possess so much of the “ philosophy of life” 
as I now do. This wretched feeling grew upon me. I 
could not master it. As the time approached, my 
timidity and apprehensions of rendering myself ridicu- 
lous, increased with fourfold keenness. A fashionable 
tailor was sought, and a rich suit, in the most approved 
style, was ordered; next, the boot-maker was brought 
into requisition, and a pair of “ high-heels,” of the best 
“ calf,” was ordered to my room; then came the pure 
white French kids, the very ton of style, — and the ruf- 
fled bosom, (for rufiies were fashionable at that day ;) — 
and last, though not least, I paid the barber a visit, and 
was nicked and trimmed in the most approved style, 
(the moustache was not then the rage, as it is now, — had 
it been, I should, undoubtedly, have been under the 
painful necessity of borrowing or hu/ying.) And yet it 
would not all answer ! The mirror told the story ! In 
spite of every effort, I bore the marks of a gawky, coun- 
try lout. I should be the butt of the house. A-lack-a- 
day! what snivelling, shrinking apes, pride makes 
of us! 


12 


THE BLEMMEKTONS; OR, 


CHAPTER 11. 

MUSINGS BY THE WAY, AN mOIDENT, REMINISCENCES. 

I EVER was of a contemplative turn of mind. Even 
though mingling in scenes of festivity, running the 
rounds of gayety and pleasure, I yet had periods, many 
periods, of sober thoughtfulness : when the gay world 
was shut out from my heart, and it mused on the mys- 
teries of nature, or the depths of Divine wisdom and 
goodness; or contemplated the striking contrasts be- 
tween the conditions of men, the oppressions and hard- 
ships of poverty, the heart-withering, blighting influ- 
ences of wealth, with its accompaniments of voluptu- 
ousness, prodigality, and misapplication of time and 
means, given by a benevolent Father, for higher and 
holier purposes. 

It was the day before my anticipated introduction to 
fashionable life, that, in one of my half sad, half-melan- 
choly, contemplative moods, towards the setting in of 
twilight, I emerged from my hotel, and leisurely saun- 
tered down a crowded thoroughfare, scarcely knowing 
or caring whither I went, or on what intent. In every 
man’s life there are strange turns, or turns that oupjpea/r 
to be strange, as he looks back upon them, which, 
somehow or another, lead to events that leave their im- 
press forever. And without the r Basonable, comforta- 
ble, Christian doctrine of an overruling Providence, 
causing all things, even the strange, unaccountable things 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


13 


of life, to work together for good to them that seek 
good, we should often be baffled by our life experience. 
But, with this heavenly doctrine before him, the Chris- 
tian has a key, which unlocks many events that would 
otherwise appear mysterious. 

I mean not to assert, that this clears^ or solves the 
mystery. Nay, not exactly that ; but it often enables us 
to see the hand that rules and guides in the mystery ; 
and faith rests satisfied with this, and dwells with rap- 
ture on the thought that the Almighty governs, — not 
only in “ the whirlwind and the storm,” — but in many, 
ah, how many ! of even of the apparently trifling inci- 
dents of life, bringing to Himself honor and glory, 
teaching us deep and abiding lessons in love, and train- 
ing our hearts, or developing our character, for a wide 
sphere of benevolence. And why should it be thought 
a thing incredible, that the All-wise Father of Mercies 
should, by some secret or hidden influence, direct our 
steps unto chance opportunities, as they may be termed, 
of doing good, — opportunities, that is, which we do not 
seek^ but with which we, nevertheless, meet, as it were, 
casually or accidentfflly ? I verily believe it, and cherish 
the belief, as among the sweetest treasures of that faith, 
which teaches me to go out of myself, — to fall down 
before, and do lowly reverence to. Him who hath num- 
bered the very hairs of my head ! 

Now, I had not pursued my walk far, before I found> 
that I had threaded my path out of the crowd, into a 
less-frequented, and more secluded street. Along this 
I slowly wended my way, wrapped in my own medita- 
tions, unobserved and unobserving. I rejoiced to be 
free, at that calm, holy hour, from the noise, bustle, and 


14 : THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 

clamor, of a great city. F or the first time since 1 1 /i 
entered it, I found myself alone. It was really a e- 
freshment to my spirits. My heart ran out in genial 
musings ; my consciousness, my personal identity, reti rn- 
ed to me. Hitherto I had been in a whirl of coir no- 
tion and excitement, carried hither and thither by the 
fluctuating tides of a new life ; — I was myself agai a . I 
could think of home, and the dear ones whom ] had 
left behind. The everlasting whirl of that great city 
went on as usual ; but, to me all was sileht, silent as the 
profound stillness of death ! I was alone with myself, 
and with Him to whom my heart did homage ! 

And yet I was not alone. There was one being be- 
sides myself, who, unobserved by all save Him who 
counteth the pulsations of the heart, pursued her lonely 
way along that deserted street. A lamp, which gave a 
flickering light, enabled me, as I met her, (for we were 
going in opposite directions,) to mark the traces of sor- 
row in the awful gloom and melancholy, which, as a 
dark cloud, rested on her countenance. 1 had met one 
of the sorrowing of earth ! It was enough. A chord 
was touched that woke in my soul the music of heaven- 
born charity and pity ! I was just in that mood to 
which a tale of sorrow would bring a real balm. I was 
in love with all mankind. My heart was sad, and full 
of kindly sympathies, and gushed out towards that 
lonely stranger. 

There are moments of our existence, when our sym- 
pathies are fuller of life than at others. There are few, 
who are striving to strew flowers along life’s pathway, 
or to chase away the shadows of darkness from sorrow- 
ing hearts, who will not avouch for this truth. There 


15 


DOTTINaS BY T^HE WAYSIDE. 

are times, when we really love to come in contact with 
sorrow, — not for the sufferer’s sake, — nay, but for our 
own. Since sorrow is the portion of man’s cup, and all 
must drink more or less deeply of it, as the dispensa- 
tion of a wise and holy Father, we would not be alto- 
gether segregated from it ; we would come in contact 
with it ; we would strive to soothe it, to pour oil 
upon it. It is not that we take pleasure in the wail of 
human anguish. ISTay, you will not undei-stand me 
thus. This would not be a Christian sentiment, but one 
indicative of a heart-sickness, near akin to misanthropy. 

I profess to be but little versed in anthroposophy ; 
and yet, methinks, the full throbbing heart of humani- 
ty, going out towards and throbbing for humanity, when 
guided by that “ still small voice” whose infant whis- 
perings were heard first in the manger, will bear wit- 
ness to the sentiment, that there are times peculiar, and 
above all others, when we love to come in contact with 
sorrow. W e feel, that it is good for us. It draws us 
nearer to heaven. It is a genuine cordial to the heart ; 
and we feel as though we could bless the Providence 
that directed us to it ! At least, such were my feelings. 

As we passed each other beneath that flickering light, 
a pensive, melancholy glance of sorrow pierced my heart. 
'No word was spoken ; no appeal to my charities or com- 
miseration was made. . She passed on. But, oh ! that 
look of deep dejection, the silent language of a deeply- 
wounded, if not broken heart, told its story, — a story, 
that I could not, would not resist. 

NoWy with all my other failings, I am very impulsive. 
Following the current of my feelings, I seldom pause 
for reflection : seldom pause for what philosophers term 


16 THE BLEMMEETONS; OE, 

“ forethouglit,” — I mean of course in the common-place 
charities of life, — but go at once out of myself, forget- 
ting self and selfish things, right in pursuit of whatever 
is in keeping with the dictates of my sympathetic feel- 
ings and impressions. And now I must know that tale 
of sorrow. It was an impulse in the right direction. It 
was a voice from God, speaking to my inner being. 

Perhaps, had I thought of the proprieties of life, I 
should not have accosted a lone young female, at such 
a time and place. I should have passed on, heedless of 
any other consideration than that of propriety ; so that 
heaven-born charity would have been locked out of my 
heart, (or rather in it,) and I should have passed on heed- 
less of the sufferings of one too sensitive to appeal to 
me, and yet too worthy to be left to unappeased sorrow. 
And more: I should have gone down to the tomb, 
without the blessed memory of a good deed which has 
ever been to me as light in darkness, and which, doubt- 
less, I shall carry with me into the eternal world, — a 
source of joy throughout the ages of eternity! 

Kind reader, did you ever perform a good act, a deed 
of mercy, that for many days, many years, made your 
heart laugh for joy ; that stirred up its deep fountains, 
ever and anon, as your memory recurred to that deed ? 
Then you can sympathize with me, in my fond feelings 
of the past, as the memory of one glorious act comes up 
before me, and I contemplate the many, many bless- 
ings that have been invoked upon my head, through 
the long intervening years. Aye, and may it not be, 
that that good deed shall rise up and call me blessed, in 
my Father’s home, when the thread of life is snapped, 
and I stand among the hosts who have passed the flood 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 17 

of death? I say it not as boasting, — nay, nay, God 
forbid. I speak it as a hope, as a faint foretaste of the 
glorious revelations of memory in the world to come. 

I speak it not as of merit, — nay, nay, — of merit there 
is none, but in One. He merits all ; — He 'bestows all, 
of free, unmerited grace. And yet, if that good deed 
so blesses me while tabernacling in the flesh, — if it so 
thrills my heart while seeing ‘‘ through a glass darkly,” 
and reading myself so imperfectly, I know, when the 
shadows shall flee away, and I shall “ know as also I am 
known,” that that good deed will wake my heart with 
everlasting songs of joy, and All my soul with gladness 
throughout eternity. 

Such is the necessary result of good actions. They . 
leave behind them happy, pleasant memories. Good 
deeds carry with them their own reward ; and yet I 
would not say that the reward is not of grace. It is of 
grace ^ and yet it is a reward, if I may so speak, spring- 
ing out of the action itself. It is so, because it cannot 
be otherwise. Ood hath so ordained^ — it springs of 
Him ; it is a great law of His kingdom, — a great law of 
a probationary state ; and so it is of grace. Man, hav- 
ing cut himself off from God, having lost his purity, no- 
thing but grace could search him out and reinstate him 
in God’s favor ; so that all is resolved into the overflow- 
ings of the divine mercy in the Cross of Christ. 

Man viewed as a probationer, as a rational being, is 
obliged by a law a priori^ antecedent to all other laws, 
to do good, to obey God ; and, therefore, there can be 
no merit in the sight of a Holy Being, who must meas- 
ure all actions by the inflexible standard of justice. As 
a general thing’ men dwell not enough on such thoughts. 


18 


THE BLEMMEETONS; OE, 

They are too prone to consider the Almighty as an ar- 
bitrary dispenser of rewards and punishments ; forget- 
ting, that He is a law unto Himself, and unto all things 
emanating from Him,* and that He governs and dis- 
penses, by a fixed law. Nothing can be more deroga- 
tory to the divine goodness, than losing sight of this 
fact. Goodness is so intrinsically good, that it is its own 
reward : wickedness is so intrinsically evil, that it is its 
own punishment. “ Yerily I say unto you, they have 
their reward.” 

Whatsoever a man seeks., in that shall he find his 
reward. If he seek holiness, goodness, religion, alle- 
giance with his Creator and Eedeemer, he shall cer- 
tainly find them and their reward, if he seek aright and 
with all his heart. K he seek vice, irreligion, unbelief, 
he shall find them and be rewarded in them. In the 
one case, the reward found will be eternal happiness ; 
in the other, eternal misery. He cannot be rewarded 
in that which he does not seek. As I have before 
stated, man is a probationer, a rational being, and 
therefore he chooses freely ; and, freely choosing evil., 
he must meet the reward of evil. It springs naturally 
out of itself, and yet it is none the less the reward of 
the Divine justice, because, as in the other case, 
it is a great law of His kingdom, and cannot be oth- 
erwise. 

Grace, through the incarnation and atonement of the 
Son of God, intervenes, to give man reconciliation with 
God ; to pardon the demerit of even his best works ; for 
sin mingles with all man’s doings, even the best of 


Archbishop Leighton. 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


19 


them. Were it not so, that is, were it not for the Grace 
of the Atonement, no man could be reinstated in God’s 
favor, or receive the rewards of free grace. Then it 
necessarily follows, that if man will not have^ or accent 
^ grace, (Faith is the hand which he must hold out to 
receive,) to blot out his sins, to hide his imperfections, 
the imperfections even of his best performances ; he 
must be left to reap the fruits of his own way, — “ For 
whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.” 

Hence, then, for the man who would be happy in 
the world to come, it is an abiding law, that he must 
seek that happiness in this life, or he cannot have it 
hereafter. For how could the impure, the unjust, the 
imsanctified in heart, and life, and temper, be happy in 
heaven ? Its holy associations, the blaze of its eternal 
day and glory, would confound them. Hot a chord in 
their hearts would beat in unison with the gladsome 
symphonies of that Temple not made with hands. They 
would meet nothing there congenial to their tastes or 
inclinations ; not one sentiment with which they could 
sympathize ; and it is the law of rational intelligence, 
fixed, universal, incontrovertible, that it can be happy 
only in kindred association. 

Take a man of really depraved and wicked disposi- 
tions and habits, (I mean not some one of the weak ves- 
sels of earth, who, though ever and anon turning aside, 
here and there, from the right way, are yet struggling 
at the foot of the cross, striving manfully to overcome 
every weakness and every sin, and washing them out 
through the atoning blood of Christ, in the tears of 
penitence,) — but, one devoid of all holy aspirations, who 
has steeled his heart and his conscience against every 


20 THE BLEMMEETONS; OE, 

fear of a judgment to come, and every emotion of love 
and gratitude to his heavenly Father. Take such a 
one, I say, from the scenes, employments, and associa- 
tions in which he has sought his happiness, and place 
him in the company of the sanctified, where every word 
that he hears will utter to him an awful reproach. Let 
him hear but the language of saintliness, the music of 
the heavenly harpings, and I ask, can he be happy ? 
Will not every word, every note that falls upon his ear, 
be as a scorpion lash, — every sound, hateful to his heart 
and ears, — and will he not cry out, in his misery, for 
some strong arm to snatch him from his own condem- 
nations ; or some dark cloud, if possible, to hide him 
from himself? 

But I intend not to run into the depths of theology. 
I have said so much, to clear up a former remark ; and 
to show my feelings and impressions, as I dwell on the 
recollection of a good deed. I lay no claim to merits — 
nay, perish the thought ! — and yet that deed has ever 
blessed me, ever been as a very pleasant line in the 
checkered history of my life, as year by year has writ- 
ten that history up ; and if it is so gracious a cordial 
to my heart now ^ — so pleasant and thrilling a reminis- 
cence, — much more will it be so in the world to come, 
when all shall be light, and no shadow shall intervene 
between me and the past ! 

That silent appeal of sorrow ! That lone girl, the 
picture of unutterable grief! Was she not one of the 
“wounded and bruised” by the wayside, left “half 
dead,” whose tale of anguish appealed to the passer-by, 
for the kindly offices of the good Samaritan ? How 


DOT TINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 21 

many, perchance, like the Priest or the Levite, had 
passed by “ on the other side,” or had come and looked 
upon the scene of wretchedness, yet hurried away with- 
out so much as a loving word ! Ah, I know not, and 
yet, alas ! it is a common case. In a crowded city, 
poverty, suffering, misery, leave their deep, abiding 
traces in many hearts which are revealed in the hag- 
gard, care-worn countenance, *in the stinted garments, 
tottering steps, shrivelled, feeble, and skeleton-like bod- 
ies. And men grow accustomed to such sights ; their 
hearts grow callous by familiarity. Ah, it is a sad, 
dreary picture ; but true, alas ! too true. We appeal to 
the great experience of life. Go back, reader, to the 
days of your youth, and tell me what were your im- 
pressions, when first you read in the sacred page the 
story of the sufferings and magnanimity of a Joseph. 
Did not your heart recoil from the wicked deed of his 
brethren, when they thrust him into the pit, or sold him 
to the stranger, to be taken far away from his loved and 
loving home? And did it not bleed with that aged 
Patriarch, when the iron went into his soul, and he 
wrapped himself in gloom, the mourning of a crushed 
heart, to go down to the grave sorrowing unto his be- 
loved son? 

But pass on, pass on, — for the scene changes. Did 
not your heart swell and throb, when you beheld those 
cruel brethren, years after, compelled by hard neces- 
sity to stand in the presence of that injured brother, 
strangers in a strange land, — and lo, when the curtain 
is drawn and all is explained, that brother stands 
forth revealed, and the providence of the Almighty is 
brought distinctly out. I ask, did not the emotions of 


22 


THE BLEMMEETONS; OK 


your heart find vent, and run out in generous tears, 
when you heard those touching and thrilling words, 
“/ am Josejph^ — doth my Father yet live?” Now, 
why did you find such thrilling delight in this story, 
hut that it spoke to the fountains of your inner being, 
ere yet they were dried up, — hut that it appealed to 
your generous sympathies, ere they were at all warped, 
or blighted, by intimate Qpntact with the world ? 

And go yet fui’ther ; take up some line from your 
own youthful observation. In younger days, ere the 
heart was hardened, or rendered callous, ere the marks 
of many sorrows, many disappointments, or many 
rebellions against its pleadings, had scarred it over, did 
you ever witness pain or anguish, without experiencing 
the up-risings of sympathy and commiseration ? Nay, 
never, never ! For hours, you have followed the men- 
dicant on his lowly pilgrimage, from door to door, ask- 
ing alms, to satisfy the cravings of his nature. For 
hours, you would stand and gaze upon the blind beggar, 
as he sat by the wayside, and stretched out his gamit 
fingers for the mite of charity. And how has your 
heart bled, when one by one the throng passed on, 
heedless of that outstretched arm, and the appeal from 
those sightless eyes! And at last, when some good 
Samaritan passed that way, and that arm was heeded, 
and the deed of love was done, as the tears of joy and 
gratitude streamed from those sightless eyes, you could 
bear no more, but mingled your tears with his, and 
went on your way with a lighter heart. And how you 
envied that good Samaritan his deed of Iovb I Oh that 
you had but the ability, and how many tears of grati- 
tude would follow you through life ! 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 23 

Ah, reader, you were young then. Your heart was 
simple as the heart of the weaned child. How is it 
now ? Alas ! alas ! those thrilling sensations are gone. 
They lie buried with the past ; they are overgrown by 
the cares of the world, the deceitfulness of things tran- 
sient as the morning cloud. The story of Joseph no 
longer brings its melting rapture. The wayside beg- 
gar, the blind, the needy, the helpless, no longer draw 
so strongly or largely upon your sympathies, or wring 
out your heart in tears. Hay, nay, you have grown 
familiar with such scenes : you have stifled those godly 
emotions: you have gone out into the world, taken 
hold upon its interests, or laid your heart upon its altar, 
until it has robbed you of your youthful sympathies. If 
I have drawn a faithful picture of your life, I pray you 
make haste to efface some portions of it. Make haste 
to become again a little child of gushing sympathies 
and love ; for, of such, we are told, “ is the kingdom of 
heaven !” 


24 


THE B L E M M E R T O N S ; OR, 


CHAPTER III. 

SOME OF life’s HEART-ACHES, MR. ARDENT, MAKING A 

MISTAKE. 

Kind reader, did you ever enter the abode of wretch- 
edness, of heart-rending poverty, with its attendant suf- 
ferings and afflictions ? If not, you have yet much to 
learn ; your heart is not yet schooled for a world-wide 
sphere of charity. Perhaps, such a scene would not be 
congenial to your taste ; and yet, I opine, it will be a 
blessing to you. Life is but half realized while we see 
only its bright side. The picture must be shaded 
properly, to give it due effect. Every well-trained 
artist is aware of this ; and in its due appreciation and 
management, he adds the finishing touch to his paint- 
ing, and acquires the title of master. It is ever so 
with our life-experience. There must be the shading^ 
to give us a full impression. We need the dark side, 
to enable us to see the bright to advantage. And these 
are the contrasts^ of which we spoke in a former chap- 
ter. We need to see, yea, and to feel^ when our Father 
sees it good for us, some of the blightings and sorrows 
of life, to enable us to appreciate its “ pleasant lines,” 
and gain some glimpses of the debt wfflich'we owe our 
Father for His mercies. 

Go with me, then. That little girl whom I met, and 
whom we saw by the lamp-light, shall conduct us. We 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


25 


move on, street by street, np this lone, filthy alley, and 
down that, passing the dim-burning lamps, threading 
our way we know not whither. But we may follow 
our guide. Her weary feet have trudged over the 
same desolate way, carrying her aching heart and 
throbbing temples, — ah, how many times ! — to the 
same home of wretchedness, with the sad reproach, on 
a heartless world, of the neglect of the claims of char- 
ity. . . . And at last we are at our destination. 

This is the house. 

We pause, and look upon it. “It is a wretched 
abode,” you say. It is November ; the night is chill ; 
the hoar-frost is gathering thick on the remnant of 
living vegetation ; the stream in the gutter is icing 
over ; the hoarse winds sigh through the broken panes. 
We ascend a rickety stairway, which runs up outside, 
at the gable ; and we enter. There is no light, except 
from a few coals on the hearth. But we hear deep, 
heavy breathings, — the meanings of death ! There, 
alone, on a miserable pallet of straw, scantily covered 
with a few tattered fragments of clothing, lies a wreck 
of disease and suffering, breathing out his life. Soon 
must the soul wing its way to its God ! There is no 
loving life-partner, to bathe those aching temples, or 
wipe off the death-damps; for, disease, too, has now 
laid its hand on her who would gladly have performed 
the last sad ofiices of affection. Long and anxious 
watchings, and the deeper trials of extreme poverty, 
have done their work. But, the deep-drawn sigh which 
falls upon the ear from the adjoining room, tells, that 
there is more than disease crushing that heart, or prey- 
ing upon those vitals ! There is a blight there, deeper 
2 



26 


THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 


far than that made by the icy hand of death ; that sigh 
tells of the sorrows of a broken heart I 

These three, — husband, wife, and daughter, — were 
the sole tenants of that upper room. And their story 
is soon told, — alas ! it is but too common. Five years 
ago they were a contented, happy, and prosperous 
family. William Wallace (as I had the story from his 
dying lips) was a respectable mechanic in the employ- 
ment of Mr. Blemmerton, a wealthy manufacturer. On 
a cold night in December, five years before, a fire had 
broken out in Mr. Blemmerton’s premises, and Wallace, 
hearing the alarm, at the dead hour of night, rushed 
to the scene of the conflagration, and exerted every 
nerve to save the property. Through fire and smoke 
he toiled, even rushing into the very flames, until the 
fire was subdued. 

But little comparative damage ensued ; the mass of 
the property was saved. But Wallace never recovered 
from his almost superhuman exertions. He became a 
prey to consumption ; and for five years had his life 
dwindled away, until now his hour had come ! And 
oh ! what an hour, under the most favorable circum- 
stances ! — but how peculiarly awful to him, reduced as 
he was to extreme poverty, his heart twining about his 
widowed wife and his orphan daughter, in their pitia- 
ble condition ! Ah, could some of the more favored of 
earth have heard that history, gazed upon that picture, 
would they not have been moved to pity and relieve ? 
It is a picture around them every day, in crowded 
cities, but, alas ! they will not see it ! It meets them 
at almost every step, but they shun it, pass by on the 
other side, or if perchance they approach and look upon 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 27 

it, they lock their hearts against it ! “ Jnst and tee 

art Thou in all Thy ways, Thou King of Saints.” The 
poor, the afflicted, shall not always he forgotten. 

W ant of proper food and nourishment had evidently 
shortened Wallace’s days; and his wife, worn out with 
hunger and wretchedness, must soon follow him, unless 
timely relief be extended. “ And this poor child,” 
said the dying father, “ my beloved Agnes, my only 
child, she has been all my support ; she has worked, 
toiled through the day, and begged a pittance, at night, 
from the shopkeepers, with whom we used to deal when 
our circumstances were better, and so has kept us alive. 
But ah me, they are growing weary of her applications 
for charity ; and the poor child knows not how to beg 
of strangers. Ah, Sir, though in humble life, we 
guarded our darling child, as long as we could, from 
the rough contact of the world. She is a simple-minded, 
guileless thing, too sensitive to go out on a mission, that 
oftener meets the cold frown of the world, than the 
cheering smile of loving sympathy. And now, poor 
child, she is to be alone, — alone in the world. Ah me ! 
ah me ! My heart, — my poor breaking heart ! But 
she will be better off; she will have one less to care 
and provide for , — one less to watch, one less to beg for! 

“ Come near me, my child, my only child 1 O sweet 
title of the parental relationship ! — come near me, my 
child. Your father is going, at last ! Let me look 
upon you, once more. God Almighty bless you, my 
dear, dutiful daughter! The God of the fatherless 
raise you up friends, and protect you, in a cold and 
heartless world ! It is all your dying father can give 
you, — ^his blessing ! Even now, the scanty furniture, 


28 


THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 


the remnant of what we once had, even the pallet on 
which mj dying body lies, in four days will be taken 
from you, and sold to pay my debt ! Ah ! my heart, 
my heart! Lay your head upon my heart, my daugh- 
ter. There, — so 1” — and he pressed her to his bosom. 

“ There, Sir,” said he, ‘‘ read that,” holding out a 
paper,— a written notice to quit the premises by a cer- 
tain day. Hurriedly moving my eye over the lines, 
what was my consternation when I found that it bore 
the signature of John Blemmerton I — Blemmerton, in 
whose service that dying man had spent his best days I — 
Blemmerton, whose property had been saved, at the 
sacrifice of that dying man’s life ! — Blemmerton, whose 
halls the next evening were to ring with the merry- 
laugh, while the widow and the fatherless, whom he 
should have succored and protected, should be crushed 
and blighted in the heart, by his cruel inhumanity and 
injustice ! 

But even the worst is not yet told ; for, there was an 
execution, in the hands of an ofiicer, on every article of 
furniture or property of any kind in that house, all of 
which was to be taken, and in four days sold for rent ! 
The debt was about thirty dollars ; and this, all the 
worldly goods in the dying man’s possession would not 
liquidate. This troubled him. He named not the injus- 
tice, the cruelty of his old employer and landlord, — I 
know not that such a thought crossed his mind ; but 
he was evidently pained, that he should not leave 
behind him enough even to pay that debt. He had, 
however, one consolation: “ My sweet Agnes,” said he, 
“ has promised, if ever she is able, to pay the last penny.” 

“God only is great.” You rise uo and exclaim. 


DOT TINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 29 

Peace, peace, troubled man; tlij last moments shall be 
lighted up with joy. Pass on into the “valley of the 
shadow of death,” leaning on the “ staif,” and protected 
by the “rod,” of Immanuel. The widow and thy 
fatherless shall be cared for. This hour dates a new era 
in their chequered life. God hath raised up the Good 
Samaritan. “The Lord defendeth the fatherless and 
widow : as for the way of the ungodly. He turneth it 
upside down.” Ps. 146 : 9. “Leave thy fatherless 
children, I will preserve them alive ; and let thy 
widows trust in Me.” Jer. 49 : 11. “Man goeth to 
his long home, and the mourners go about the streets,” 
Ecc. 12 : 5 ; but that trembling spirit departs in peace. 
Long has been the struggle, dark has been the way, but 
there is light at the last. 

“ Man is born unto trouble, as the sparks fly upward.” 
Job 5 : Y. Without intending to wnlte a line on the 
question of slavery, pro or con.^ we feel at liberty to 
say, that we have little faith in that noisy philanthropy, 
which is ever busy in making “ red flannel shirts for 
the little negroes in Africa,” while it gives the “ cold 
shoulder,” as they say in Yankeedom, to the cries of 
poverty and distress around it. Place a Southern colored 
man in one of your pent-up factories, or scorch him 
over your hot, smoking furnaces, in the dank, dark 
room, from seven in the morning to six o’clock in the 
evening, and he would soon die, or sing, “ Carry me 
back to old Yirginny.” Ah ! talk as you please about 
these questions, from the fall of man you may trace 
onward the stream of time, and everywhere you will 
behold that sentence written, “ Man is born unto trouble, 
as the sparks fly upward.” 


30 THE BLEMMEETOHS; OE, 

We find no fault with those who are striving, in the 
spirit of the true self-denial of the Gospel, to ameliorate 
his condition, under whatever circumstances. Let self 
be cast into the shade, and to all efforts for man’s good, 
in whatever condition, that will hear the tests of true 
charity^ — the tests of her true weights when jflaced in 
her scale^ — (for, charity measures all questions, in all 
their bearings, proximate or remote, and is not content 
with less than 2 ^ perfect equilibrium^ we are willing to 
give God speed. 

But, man is a one-sided creature the world over. He 
has but one pair of spectacles ; and they rarely enable 
him to see in more directions than one. It would be a 
blessed thing, if some of the c>7i6-sighted philanthropists 
of this philanthropic age would have their spectacles 
fitted with glasses looking in different directions, — one 
glass to see that picture, the other to look upon this. 
We opine, that they would have a more extended 
vision, and would bless us for the suggestion. We have 
om’selves seen some sights, and taken some notes, 
through a pair of these <i^c>w&^-glassed spectacles. For 
instance, we have seen white men, by scores and hun- 
dreds, when the thermometer, in the shade, stood at 
98° Fahrenheit, toiling before the melting furnace, the 
great sweat-drops rolling down their begrimed faces, — 
yea, by scores dropping dead at their posts, from the 
heat, and this from seven in the morning till six in the 
evening, — no pure air, — the hot breath of the molten 
iron, — the red glare of the furnace, — no intermission but 
for dinner, a brief hour, — smut and smoke, and toil and 
sweat, — no recreation from day to day, — no Saturday’s 
holiday, — no one to provide a physician, or to care for 


DOTTINQS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


31 


the helpless family, when sickness comes, — ^no wages 
accruing while disease preys upon the vitals ; and if 
poverty or death ensue, no friendly hand to pro- 
vide for the widow and the fatherless. worlc^ no 
pay. 

Go out, ye helpless ones, to beg and be scoffed at, or 
go to the Almshouse, to conceal your poverty from the 
public eye. It will not answer for you to appear on the 
streets, among the living mass of useful men. There is 
no pity for you. The world is run mad with philan- 
thropy. Its words are large and swelling ; but, alas ! 
you will find, that it requires more than words to clothe 
the body and feed the stomach ! And those frail young 
girls in the factory, pent up amidst the everlasting ding- 
dong of the machinery ; no merry laugh or gleeful 
song, but work, work, — haste, haste, — shuttle, scuttle, 
belter, skelter, ding, dell, hurry, scurry, heat and dust, 
tainted air and tainted breath, — so they go from morn 
till night, — never stopping, always pressing, — ^limbs 
quivering, hearts bleeding: or others, in the garret, 
bending over the needle, before the dim-burning lamp, 
at the hour of midnight, — gaunt bodies, — slender 
fingers, aching temples, — poor pay, — scanty subsist- 
ence, — slender pittance, — work, work, work, — toil on, 
sweat on, — breathe on, ye toiling ones ! God sees and 
marks. There is a brighter world, a fairer clime. 
Trust in Him. He counts the throbbings of your hearts. 
May He touch the hearts of WQdhhy philanthropists., — 
give them bowels of compassion, — to spend less on 
their pampered lusts in fine fuimiture, extravagant 
living, to talk less, and do more, to afibrd you greater 
independence, and lift you from your slavery, — the 


32 THE BLEMME.ETONS; OK, 

slavery of injustice, tlie slavery of the lowest pittance, 
the grinding poverty of meagre wages ! 

Ah ! we have seen sights, even in the great metrop- 
olis of this happy land. Looking from our room win- 
dow in our hotel, wLich opened on bricks on all sides, 
during the extreme heat of the past summer, (which 
was so intense, that, during a walk of two squares on 
Broadway, we saw as many as four horses fall in the 
streets, panting for life,) at the early dawn, ere yet the 
full glare of day had broken upon this mass of bricks 
and living creatures, we witnessed a scene never to be 
effaced from our memory. My window oj^ened on a 
vacant space, a com-t about ten feet square ; on either 
side, rose the brick walls, full four stories high ; at the 
bottom, were scattered, here and there, fragments of 
broken bottles, and old lumber and rags, among which 
a lone rat, at that early hour, rummaged for his scant 
supply of food. We pitied the poor rat, when we 
beheld his slim prospect of his morning’s meal. Musing 
on him and his fate, we had lost sight of a frail tene- 
ment which occupied the centre of the court. The rat, 
suddenly pricking up his ears, and running for his hole, 
called our attention to other objects. 

In the centre of the court, there was a sort of cabin 
or glass-house, a mere frame-work, somewhat after the 
plan of the frame- work of a hot-bed, filled with glass on 
the sides and glass over head, to admit freely the rays 
of light, and constructed with doors on either side to 
admit the air which might steal over the towering roof, 
and find its way doim to that dark, pent-up place. As 
the rat fied, a door opened, and two human beings took 
their seats in their glass-house, far down below me, and 


DOTTI.NGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 83 

commenced plying their needles with marked industry. 
“ They that live in glass-houses should not throw 
stones,” especially they who wor'k in them should not ; 
for should they break a pane, it would cost more .than 
a day’s work, and give them many pains in return. 
But we can throw a stone for them, which, we trust, 
will be as true as was David’s, from his sling at the 
champion Goliath, of Gath, — not, indeed, to hill men^ 
but to kill their selfishness^ their pretensions^ — kill 
canting^ hypocriUcal philanthropy^ — demolish these 
glass-houses, open the eyes of the blind, (who yet say 
they see,) to the wants of man as they really are, and 
to the great bleeding heart of humanity. 

l^ow, follow out these two beings from their glass- 
house, — take that living mass from the factory and the 
blazing furnace, and view their condition in a religious 
aspect. Where do you find them on the Lord’s day ? 
Do you behold them in groups and crowds, hurrying 
to the sanctuary to offer up the earliest and latest 
prayer to Him from whom all good things do come ? 
Hay ; scarcely a moiety of that vast number are striving 
for a better world ; scarcely a moiety of them have any 
sense of religion. The church-bell has no music for 
the ears of the majority ; indeed, over them, it is to be 
feared, infidelity rules and reigns. And the reason is, 
they are not cared for ! We are reciting facts, — facts 
of which we are cognizant. Infidelity, Deism, prevails 
fearfully among this class of the citizens of this great 
Kepublic. We have met with men who were frank 
enough to tell us, that from long confinement to tlieir 
peculiar employments, neglect of the sanctuary, and 
want of intercourse with their fellow-men, and the 
2 -» ■ 


34 THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 

sympatliies springing out of it, they had not only grown 
misanthropic, but had actually learned to Kate the 
sound of the church-bell, — to Kate the very word 
Eeligion ! And they have accounted to me for it, in 
this way : Their employment is monotonous ; they 
have nothing to exercise the mind, to keep it active, in 
things good and elevating. And yet the mind will be 
employed. They grow meditative, are wrapped up in 
their own thoughts ; the everlasting whirl and the 
racket of the machinery drive them, as it were, into 
themselves. They see that they are little cared for; 
they grow melancholy, and nurse their morbid feelings, 
until finally they yield themselves up to the temptations 
of the evil one, and become hardened in open, avowed 
infidelity 1 And especially is this apt to be the case 
with foreigners. 

We have frequently met with individuals from Eng- 
land^ who had been reared up, we may say, at the al- 
tars of her noble and glorious Church, but who, on 
removing to this country, soon fell into the meshes of 
infidelity, or some of the ruinous vagaries or heresies 
for which this country is so famous. And the reason is 
this : They miss here the care and the sympathy to which 
they have been accustomed. The Church of England 
provides and cares for all classes of her children, on a 
much 'more extensive and systematic scale than- we do, 
as we are ashamed to confess. And it is a great re- 
proach on the Church, that in all our cities there 
are not more churches, free for the use of all such, 
whether foreign or native, and more pastors to care for 
them, search them out, give them the right hand of 
sympathy and brotherly love, throw around them the 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


35 


pastoral arm, to make them feel happy and at home ! 
The Pastors will not be wanting ; the Church’s heart 
is big enough, and full enough of yearning ; but, alas ! 
her yearnings are stifled, her heart is crushed, because 
her CHILDREN withhold from the Lord more than is con- 
venient ; devote their means to all the vanities of life ; 
and so ‘‘ rob God,” while His children cry unto Him 
and them for the bread of life and the waters of salva- 
tion ! 

And we all know, who take any interest in the race 
of Adam, that when men, in whatever class, lose a 
sense of religion, with it they lose all reverence for sa- 
cred things. Hence, if you would find, on the Lord’s 
day, that mass of men to whom we have pointed, you 
must not seek them at God’s sanctuary. But turn to 
the tavern, or tippling-shop, the steamboat or railroad 
excursion, the woods, or water, and you will see how 
that holy day is spent. Ho sound of praise or prayer, 
from them, makes glad the courts of heaven ; but, more 
likely, blasphemy, drunkenness, re veilings, fights, 
brawls, — the open gateway to eternal ruin, the dram- 
shop, dealing out its deadly poison, — these are the 
sights which make angels veil their faces, and these the 
sounds that pierce the blue vaults of heaven, and carry 
their tale of woe up to the throne of God ! 

How, we insist upon it, that these things are so, in a 
great measure, because, with all the boasted philan- 
thropy of this age, true charity does not walk visibly 
before us, enough! High-sounding words, pleasant- 
reading books, answer very well iu their place ; but we 
want a little more of the spirit thrown in, in the right way, 
like that which once, in one crashing voice, rang out on 


36 THE BLEMMEETONS; OE, 

the still air, “Let us fight Philip!” We must go to 
work^ and do. You are ready, you say, for your part. 

Well, we want to build a free church in street, to 

seat six hundred persons. It will cost ten thousand dol- 
lars ; and then we want tw^elve hundred dollars jDer an- 
num, to feed and clothe a pastor to look after the flock. 
It is a glorious enterprise. The angels look out from 
heaven and smile upon it. Christ from His throne holds 
out an immortal crown, for every head who shall honor 
Him in this or any other work 1 “ Oh, how glad I shall 
be, to have a share in that work ! It is a glorious work ! 
And heaven-horn Charity, unveiled, walks in our midst, 
seeMng wLere she may bestow her favors I Oh, do let 
me take a part with you ! It will be so pleasant, so 
delightful! We shall only have to make known our 
wants, and the means will be instantly supplied !” Go 
on, enthusiastic youth ! May be, when your beard has 
grown you will have learned wisdom. 

How watch him ! “ Let’s see,” says he, “ on whom 

shall I call first ?” Ah, lucky thought ! There is Mr. 
A., an enthusiastic admirer of “ Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” — 
a great friend of humanity ; a great philanthropist ! 
“Well, I’ll put him down for five hundred dollars.” 
“ Young man, you had better be certain first !” 

Well, he calls at Mr. A.’s counting-room. “ Is Mr. 
A. in?” “Yes.” And turning your eyes up, you see 
him at his desk, casting up accounts, or counting his 
money, or reading the money article in the morning’s 
paper. He hands him his subscription-book ! Mr. A. 
opens it, gives it one eye, while he gives the other to his 
occupation! “Free church. Sir! — free church! The 
thing is impracticable ! It won’t pay ; can’t be sus- 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 37 

tained ! If you build it, a Pastor can’t be sustained ! 
There are more churches here now than can be support- 
ed !” “ But, Mr. A., the poor must be cared for !” 

“ Yes, Sir, it is true ; but I have given every dollar I 
can afford ! It is my duty, first to sustain the churches 
already in existence. There are St. J.’s, and St. P.’s, 
and St. A.’s ; these congregations all are poor, and I 
do maintain^ that we should strengthen them, before 
we engage in any thing new ! Besides, there is the 
great Kossuth fund, — I have just given that one thou- 
sand dollars ; and then, I have subscribed fifty dollars 
to Mr. Drinkwater’s Temperance Lectures ; and did 
you not see, that I am a large contributor to the 
‘ Uncle Tom Cabin’ fund, — all. Sir, for the cause of hu- 
manity !” 

“ But, Mr. A., all this does not build the house of the 
Lord.” “ I know that. Sir ; but. Sir, humanity, — hu- 
manity, I say, — is a great cause 

Kow, my young friend, you may give the case up 
there ! Go, visit Mrs. A. And neither will she have 
any thing to give. Mr. A. holds the purse-strings. All 
that she can do is to get money enough to buy new fur- 
niture. Why, just think. Sir, that mirror which shows 
your person to such an advantage, only cost two thou- 
sand dollars ! Was it not cheap ?” And then it will 
take at least two hundred dollars to buy the Misses A. 
tickets to the celebrated Messrs. Humbug, Money catch- 
em & Co.’s Lectures on — K othiko ! And then there 
are the grand concerts, — it is unfashionahle not to 
patronize them. That involves five hundred more! 
And then come the balls and parties; Mrs. A. must 
give at least two parties this winter. All these items 


38 


THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 


will involve at least two or three thousand more ! Build 
a free church,, eh ? No, Sir, there is not money enough. 
The people are too poor. There is money enough for 
every thing else, but to support and sustain the Gospel ! 
And there is enough for that^ if only men had heart 
enough to see, that God will bring them into judgment 
for the misuse of their talents ! 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


39 


CHAPTER IV. 

ME. LOVEGOOD ON THE PHILOSOPHY OF BIKDS. SKETCHES 
FKOM NATUEE. 

We think it best, at this stage of our sketch, to intro- 
duce our Pastor to the reader. “Your Pastor? what 
has he to do with your sketch?” “We shall see,” we 
answer. We are writing life experiences, and life very 
often runs in crooked streams. He who writes from 
the lines of life, must often diverge from the straight 
line of the ordinary story-teller. If there appears no 
connection here, it will be seen hereafter. Let that 
suflSce to quiet all murmurings. 

Our Pastor was a very practical man, — a man of 
great learning and experience, — one of your close- 
thinking men, who, in his public ministrations and 
private intercourse with his flock, made every event in 
life, and every phenomenon in nature, in some way 
subservient to his work. Ho other man that ever I 
saw, was so complete a master of the hearts of the 
young ; or understood so well how to interest them, or 
to gain their afiections ! And this, because he had so 
happy a facility in conversing with them, on those 
commonplace topics which they best understood. He 
had evidently been a boy himself; for, he understood 
all about the making and flying of a kite, a game of 
ball or marbles, as weU as any boy in Christendom. 
And it was really a treat, to get him interested in con- 


40 THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 

versation, on any of the pastimes of his younger days. 
Apart from the pleasure he afforded, he always instruct- 
ed, — always pointed out some new beauty, some new 
lesson of wusdom, even in those things which we 
thought we were thorough masters of. 

Well do I remember a visit he paid to the village 
school, and the interesting sketch that he gave us, at 
the request of the tutor, on the Philosophy of Birds. 
“When I was a boy,” said Mr. Lovegood, “I spent 
many days, rambling over the fields, and nursing the 
little ducks and chickens ; employments which delight- 
ed me when a youth. Many, many hours did I spend, 
in the pleasant task of watching and noting the devel- 
opments of the wonderful instincts of the poultry-yard. 
It is not strange, then, boys, that this pleasant spring 
day should bring to light some lines, long obscured on 
the table of my memory, of the peculiar traits of that 
wise little folk, the birds and domestic fowls, which I 
treasured up when a boy. This bright sunny day, and 
the sparkling eyes and smiling faces around me, carry 
me back to the days of my yonth ! Man is a strange 
compound, and a wonderful ! And it may seem 
strange to you, a waste of time, if not absolutely non- 
sensical, to talk about the Philosophy of Birds P'^ 

“ Philosophy of Birds !” we all exclaimed. “ Who 
ever heard of such a thing !” “ That, boys, is precise- 

ly wdiat I wish to do, — talk about something of which 
you have never heard, — soniething of which you 
hnow^ perhaps, nothing.” “ But, Mr. Lovegood, you 
say Philosophy of Birds.” “Just so: Philosophy. 
What’s in a word ? I care not a fig about it, in the 
present instance. Words are mighty things, indeed ! 


DOT TINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


41 


But, in tlie present case, I care not for tlie word' call 
it instinct^ if you prefer it. I prefer the word I use, — 
Philosophy. And I maintain, against you and the rest 
of the world, that birds are philosophers. They have a 
language^ too !” 

“What! birds have a language?” “Yes! birds. 
It is true, we do not understand it. Perhaps, that is a 
boon yet in store for us, in this progressive age ! You 
smile at this, as well you may ; but there are men 
silly enough to undertake any thing ! The barbarians 
of our own race, have a language which we do not 
understand ; but our not understanding does not prove 
that they have no language ; neither does our ignorance 
of ornithological dialect, prove that birds have not a 
language.^ They have not our language, but they have 
one of their own. If we do not understand it, it is our 
infelicity. And it should humble us, when we reflect, 
that there is something under the sun which we do not 
understand! Stranger ideas than this that I have 
started, have passed current in the world. 

“ In the olden time, there was a system in ornitho- 
mancy, — divination by the flight and other acts of birds. 
Some remarkable stories of such things are told in the 
old classic authors, which some of these days you may 
read. Great events have turned upon the flight of a 
flock of ravens, or vultures! And even at this day, 
you know, some of the simple-minded country people 
tremble, if an unlucky crow wing his flight across their 
pathway ! Two crows make a better omen, but three 
a very bad one. The shrill cry, nocturnus ululatus^ of 
the htight-raven (Kycticorax) is heard with dread, as 
foreboding some dire calamity ! And so the wakeful 


42 THE BLEMMEETONS; OE, 

notes of the Whip-poor-will, at nightfall; especially if 
he take his position in the yard or near the house, 
brine: to the inmates of that house the omen of death ! 
But, I assure you, that I have often heard the shrill cry 
of the E’ight-raven, and the melancholy note of the 
Whip-poor-will, without terror, or ensuing death, or 
calamity ! And yet I believe that birds are philoso- 
phers, and very wise ones in their way ; that they have 
a language, and understand each other, at least those of 
the same genus. 

“ When a boy, I was not unobservant of such small 
matters; and now that I am a man, and the frosts of 
age are settling on my brow, I look upon them with 
reverence, if not awe ! Then they afforded me pleas- 
ure ; they now afford me food for reflection, teach me 
deep lessons of love and humility, and lift my thoughts 
and my heart up to that Great Being ‘ who feedeth the 
young ravens that cry unto Him,’ and who, through the 
instincts of brutes, and beasts, and fowls of the air, 
teacheth man wisdom ! 

“When young, I had a peculiar for crows^ 

i. e., a longing for them ! It was a strange fancy. But 
boys will be boys, and every boy will have his own 
idiosyncrasy. I had mine. It w^as a hankering after 
crows I But, if the truth must be told, there was a 
twofold reason for this singular fancy of mine. In the 
first place, crows are very troublesome little fellows, 
you know, boys. They will steal eggs and young 
chickens, and pluck the shoots of corn, for the parent 
grain, as they spring out of the earth. So, my father 
proclaimed a w^ar of extermination against the crow 
tribe. Consequently, in the second place, every dead 


D0TTING8 BY THE WAYSIDE. 


43 


crow was a sixpence in my pocket ! Marvellous thing ! 
‘ Money is the root of all evil !’ It certainly was the 
root of my fondness for crows ! And, notwithstanding 
the ornithomancy of the ancients, and the superstition 
of the ignorant, it certainly was a lucky thing for me, 
and a very unlucky one for any crow whose flight lay 
across my pathway, within gun-shot, (I was a remark- 
able shot ‘on the wing,’) — for to Kim it was certain 
death, to me it was as good as a sixpence !” 

“But you tell me, crows are not philosophers.” 
“ Then, boys, answer me this : How is it, that I could 
approach one of these sable, glossy little fellows alriftost 
as near as I pleased, if only I had no gun in my hand ; 
but, when I had that deadly weapon, I could rarely get 
within gun-shot of one?” “True! true!” we all 
exclaimed. “ True to the life !” “ They cared not for 

me^ but they did for the gunP “ They smelt jpowder^ 
exclaimed the boys. “ That is it, — they don’t Hke 
powder !” 

“I could walk through the fields with a tobacco- 
stick, or any other bludgeon, unnoticed. But, let me 
have a gun, and 1 might creep behind bushes, copy all 
the arts of war in ambush ; but, as a general thing, it 
would all be useless. His crowship, a sentinel, sitting 
on some high tree looking out, would spy me, and in a 
jifiy you would hear him sing out, ‘ Caw, caw, caw !’ 
and away they all would go, making the air ring again 
with the same cry, and laughing in their sleeve at me, 
if they happened to have one. I have witnessed this a 
thousand times.” “ So have we,” said the boys. “ And 
a thousand times I have felt my heart palpitate, when, 
at the moment I expected to win the prize, they have 


I 


44 theblemmertons;ok, 

been warned by the sentinel, whose sharp eye detected 
me in my hiding-place, and they have all flown off, 
making merry at my expense ! 

“ Crows are not philosophers, eh, boys ? Then I 
should like you to account for this. You see an old 
setting crow, perched on the top of a tree, or on a 
fence-stake, near the poultry-yard. There she sits, the 
very picture of ‘patience sitting on a monument.’ 
What does it mean? Watch yonder hen, and you 
shall see. She softly threads her way through the 
briers or leaves, or she is scratching in the straw behind 
the barn. Her crowship looks on, well content to bide 
her time ! 

The hen, too, has her philosophy ; but perhaps, in 
the present instance, it is a very foolish one. Like some 
persons we wot of, the less they know the wiser they 
think they are ! for, she has no sooner accomplished 
the great work of laying an egg, than she must tell all 
the world the wonder ; and away she goes cackling, 
and fuming, and fussing, at the top of her voice ! Kow 
watch her crowship ! You hear not a word from her ! 
But she softly lifts her wing, and adown she sails to the 
nest ! She pauses a moment, to see that all is right. 
The crow is wonderfully circumspect, and teaches man 
a good lesson ! She loolis all around her^ before she 
acts in such an enterprise ! Perhaps she feels guilty, 
and therefore she thinks that some wily boy may have 
placed a trap there for her destruction, as I have 
known boys to do. Therefore, she draws herself steal- 
thily up to the nest, — stands, as it were, on tiptoe, 
stretches out her neck, peeps well in, — and then, — the 
track being clear, — I would not give much for that 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 45 

egg !” “ Good, good, good !” said the boys, clapping 

their hands,— “just like them !” 

“ I add one other instance of the philosophy of crows. 
When they grew uncommonly wily, and yet uncommon- 
ly destructive in the corn-field, I resolved, at my father’s 
suggestion, on another plan for their destruction. I 
took a large quantity of corn, and, with a needle, in- 
serted a horse-hair through the centre of each grain, 
and tied it fast. This corn, so arranged, I scattered 
broadcast over the field. ‘ ISTow,’ says I, ‘ I guess I 
shall be too smart for you.’ Well, one or two would 
pick up a grain, examine it, — it wouldn’t do! He 
woujd set one foot on the grain, take the hair in his 
beak, and tug away until in some way he would get it 
free ; if not, he would give it up. One fellow, less dis- 
creet, or more hungry than the rest, swallowed a grain. 
Presently I saw he was in misery. ‘ How,’ says I, ‘ old 
fellow, you are gone 1’ He fiew up, made a call, and 
three or four fiocked about him ; and the last I saw of 
them, one was tugging at the hair to pull it out of his 
throat ! I gave up, in despair of catching or killing 
crows, in that way ! Crows are philosophers, boys, it is 
useless to deny it 1 The only way I could ever save the 
corn from them, was by rolling the grains well in tar, 
before planting. They are not fond of tar.” “ Ho,” 
says Tom Jenkins, “ it smells and tastes something like 
gunpowder, and they are afraid of it 1” 

“Well, boys, I suppose a turkey-hen is not a philoso- 
pher, — a feminine philosopher ?” 

“ Have you ever had your own hen and chickens, or 
turkey and her young, to care for and nurse, as a man 
would nurse his own child ? If not, you are no judge 


46 THE BLEMMEETONS; OR, 

It is only the real country boy who understands these 
things. Your city nursling, what knows he of the 
philosophy of fowls? Perhaps, he understands them 
on the table^ if he has money enough to buy them. 
Otherwise, I trow, in these hard times, — which have 
been since the days of Adam, — he does not understand 
them even then {stand over them he never does). Un- 
derstand the philosophy of fowls ! Why, one-half of 
the city dandies, swaggering under whiskers and cigars, 
have not philosophy enough to ca/rve one, when it is 
served on the table cooked, and ready for the knife ! 

“ If you had been a boy ’when I was, and with me 
watched my turkey-hen, to find her nest, you would not 
have said that she lacked philosophy ! She never in- 
tended that I or any one else should know where it was. 
Uay, if she could hinder it, even his honor, her liege- 
lord, was not let into the secret. But, I generally ac- 
quired it by dint of efibrt, — by sly, stealthy movements 
and watchings. She would be with the fiock, carelessly 
picking about the poultry-yard. Presently, she would 
shear off, — seem to lose all taste for society ; in fact, 
to become too fastidious or aristocratic to associate with 
others. So she would gradually work her way olf from 
them ; and then you would see her glide along stealthi- 
ly, now this way, then that, but never in the direction 
of her nest. 

“ My position would be taken behind an old house, 
or a bunch of briers, or a tree. As she moved along, I 
altered my position, taking pains to keep out of sight, 
and at a respectful distance. If ever she saw me, it was 
enough ! ‘ She was only idling her time then !’ ‘ She 

was not going to her nest !’ ‘ Indeed, I was mistaken 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 47 

in suspecting such a thing.’ ‘ Dear me,’ she seemed to 
say, ‘ how is it, that I have wandered so far from my 
companions!’ And she would turn about, and com- 
mence retracing her steps, with all the naivete of the 
most consummate coquette ! For a whole day, has she 
coquetted me in this way, without going to her nest. 
My only plan was, when I was detected, to make tracks 
boldly for the house. She would be watching me, — no, 
not she ! Nevertheless, I would have to make a final 
clearance, and fall upon another plan to accomplish my 
object, which was simply to return home, and take my 
position at a garret window, and look after her until she 
ceased to fear my intrusion, and then to steal out again 
and follow her up in the same sly way, or else, for that 
day, give up the attempt ! A turkey-hen is not a phi- 
losopher, eh ? 

“ Then, go with me into the fields, and watch her 
movements with her young. Mark her care and watch- 
fulness. How stately is her walk ; how soft her tread, 
as the little ones run about her feet ! Hear her call 
them, when she finds food ; see the little ones obey that 
call. But, above all, mark that eye of hers; see it 
turned up to the heavens, in the full glare of the broil- 
ing noon-day sun, which you dare not face ! But, she 
has a thin film which she draws over her eye, and 
which protects it from the sun’s rays, yet enables her 
to see. And ever and anon, first one eye and then the 
other is turned up, to scan the high arch of .the heav- 
ens ; and if, perchance, kite or eagle hover near, her 
keen eye searches him out, even though he fiaps his 
wing under the full blaze of the sun ! The young are 
warned, and immediately they seek a hiding-place ! 


48 THE BLEMMEETONS; OE, 

“See her again, passing, with her stately tread, 
through the fields. A snake is descried in the grass I 
O, then, such a sputtering you never heard, — ‘ Put ! — 
put ! — put ! — put !’ — and all the young ones hurry up 
and gather around, and stretch out their little necks, 
and gaze at the snake, answering in the same language, 
— put ! — put ! — put ! If any one acquainted at all with 
turkey language is near at hand, he knows the meaning 
of all this, prepares a stick, draws up, and kills the 
snake, and the fuss is ended : otherwise, having wearied 
themselves with the alarm,* one by one they turn away, 
quit their grumbling and ‘putting,’ and go on their 
way as quietly as ever.” 

“ That’s all true,” said the boys : “ we know it is.” 
“ O ! Mr. Lovegood,” said little Ben Jones, “ let me 
tell you what I saw last summer.” “Tell on Ben,” 
said Mr. Lovegood. 

“ I was walking through the orchard, and I heard 
the turkeys quarrelling and ‘ putting,’ as you say, over 
something ; and when I went up, sure enough, they 
had found a viper! And what do you think, Mr. 
Lovegood ? The viper had a toad in his mouth, whose 
head just projected out of his mouth. In a minute 
more, he would have swallowed him. I took a stick, 
struck the viper a blow, the toad sprang out of his 
mouth, and away he went as fast as he could hop, his 
little eyes almost popping out of his head, right through 
the flock of young turkeys, to their great dismay 1 I 
watched the toad as far as I could see him ; he was 
hopping away, for his life.” “ Good for you, Ben ! I 
am glad to see you observant of such things. I have 
seen the same thing, when a hoy, several times. 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


49 


“ Kow, boys, you all know bow old chanticleer, and 
the mother hen, of all tribes, turkey, chicken, duck, 
know the birds of prey from those that are not. A 
Buzzard, (Buteo, or Triorches,) which preys only on 
dead animals, may sail about, all day, unnoticed. But, 
so soon as a bird of the accipitris genus, which is a bird 
of prey, the kite or eagle, for instance, makes his 
appearance, what a scream, and rush, and flutter, is 
immediately raised, and how all the little ones scamper 
off to a hiding-place ! 

“I have not told you the half yet, boys ; but I fear 
to tire your patience.” 

“ O do go on, Mr. Lovegood ; it is so pleasant !’’ 

“ Well, did you ever come suddenly on a covey of 
young partridges in a thicket ? I have, very often. It 
is a beautiful sight ! I have seen the little fellows run, 
with the shell yet on the back. Walking through the 
sedge or leaves, your ears are suddenly stunned with a 
flutter, and the scream of the parent birds, and all 
around you are twenty or more of these little fellows, 
hustling and scampering about, hither and thither ! In 
a moment, ere your astonishment has subsided, there is 
profound silence ! You see not so much as the rust- 
ling of a leaf! The old birds are near at hand, running 
round with drooping wings, presenting the truest 
picture of woe, and touching your heart with their pite- 
ous cries ! 

“ Now, what has become of those little fellows ? You 
mean to catch one of them! Well, catch it, if you 
can ! I defy you ! I have tried it, a hundred times ! 
They may be within two rods of you, or they may be 
twenty rods off, — so it is, for the life of you, you can’t 
3 


50 


THE BLEMMEETONS; OE, 


find one of them ! Those little fellows have more phi- 
losophy than you ! They are masters of their profes- 
sion, which, in the present instance, is simply to hide 
from you, and defy your search ! You withdraw a 
space out of sight, hut not out of hearing. Now listen ! 
What do you hear? The low, mournful voice of the 
parents, assuring the little ones that danger is over, and 
calling them together, — ‘ Whe-ew — whe-ew — whe-ew,’ 
their little throats warble in an undertone! If the 
parent birds have separated, you hear ringing out on 
the air, in a soft, clear voice, — ‘ Eob-white, — Bob- 
white, — Bob-white 1’ And presently you hear the 
answer, ‘ Bob-white, — Bob-white,' — 'Bob-white !’■ — and 
Bobby comes up ; and then, oh, such a prattling and 
jollifying you never heard, — they are all so happy ! 

“ And now, boys, I have done,” said Mr. Lovegood. 
“ I speak as a simple-minded boy. In fact, this scene 
and these thoughts make a boy of me again 1 They are 
but a feeble picture of my boyish enthusiasm, over 
such common-places of my younger life, which have 
left deep marks and lines on my memory ! Nor have 
I told you of these things, simply to make up a story. 
They are facts, — facts just as they occurred, true to life, 
true to nature, without one line of embellishment ! God 
bless you, boys! Keep your young hearts pure and 
innocent, as the day you came from the holy font. 
When you grow to man’s estate, still be boys, little 
weaned children, in heart, and life, and conversation ! 
Still meditate on these simple, but beautiful memories 
of your younger days ! And then, with me, you will 
see in them something to admire, something to adore ! 
You will see the handiwork of Jehovah, written, 


T)OTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 51 

not only on the seas and floods, and the great worlds 
above ns ; but in the instincts of the fowls of the air, 
and the fishes of the sea ; and with the sweet Psalmist 
of Israel, your heart will break out in the jubilant 
song : ‘ O praise the Lord of heaven : praise Him in the 
height. Praise Him, all ye angels of His; praise 
Him, all His hosts ; praise Him, sun and moon ; praise 
Him, all ye stars and light ; mountains and all hills ; 
fruitful trees and all cedars; beasts and all cattle; 
worms and feathered fowls ; kings of the earth, and 
all people ; princes, and all judges of the world ; 
young men and maidens ; old men and children ; 
praise the Hame of the Lord ; for His Hame only is 
excellent, and His praise above heaven and earth !’ ” 
How, where is the boy that would not love Mr. Love- 
good? 


52 


THE BLEMMERTONS;OR, 


CHAPTER V. 

A SPLENDID BALL AT MRS. BLEMMERTON’s. REVELATIONS 
OF CHARACTER. 

The anxiously-expected nigjit at last arrived ; and, at 
nine o’clock, I found myself, with a palpitating heart, 
at Mr. Blemmerton’s door. The scenes of the past 
night had sufficed to allay many of my misgivings, 

touching my dehut into the coteries of , and its 

revelations, to render me more averse to the common- 
places of that sort of life to which I was about to be in- 
troduced. For a while, I stood undetermined, whether 
I should enter or not. I wavered between desire and 
shrinking ; hut, at last, I took courage, — pulled lustily 
at the bell, — and, the next moment, was ushered into a 
full blaze of light, and heard announced, in a patroniz- 
ing voice : “ Jonathan Heartful, Esquire.” 

What an array of elegance, fashion, and beauty met 
my eyes 1 The room seemed filled with diamonds, 
sparkling and hashing in the blaze of the gorgeous chan- 
delier. But I pause not to enter into minutiae. The 
reader understands all about it. Every thing was, as 
certain writers would say, comme il faut^ for such an 
occasion. The mirrors were, for all the world, like all 
fashionable mirrors in high life, and cost but little less 
than four thousand dollars. And the carpets, in beau- 
ty of style and richness of texture, were not a whit be- 
hind other fashionable carpets of the most costly fab- 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 63 

rics ; in short, every thing about the house, was in a 
style of elegance and magnificence, in keeping with the 
wealth of Mr. John Bleinmerton, while the delectables 
for the palate composed the choicest productions of the 
foiu’ quarters of the globe. Smiling nymphs and stately 
matrons, and elderly young ladies, on the wrong side of 
thirty, in satins, silks, and velvets, of the richest styles, 
and trig, dandified gentlemen, in kids and moustaches 
^of the latest fashion, all were busy, paying court to the 
pleasures and hilarities of the evening 1 

Mr. Heartful felt like a caged bird, but newly im- 
prisoned, whose heart fiutters at every strange sight or 
sound. “Will Mr. Heartful be presented to Mrs. Blem- 
merton ?” Mr. Heartful, covered with blushes, and trem- 
bling with modesty, is presented to Mrs. Blemmerton. 
Mrs. Blemmerton is very condescending, is “happy to 
have the pleasure of Mr. Heartful’s company at her en- 
tertainment. It’s only a small aflfair, — a select few. 
The grand season has not yet arrived. Hopes Mr. H. 
will enjoy himself.” 

“ Mr. Heartful acknowledges himself highly compli- 
mented. Has no doubt, that he shall spend an exceed- 
ingly agreeable evening. He is but little acquainted 
with city habits and etiquette. Being but a novice, 
raw, uncouth, just from the rural districts, he expects 
merely to be a learner.” “ Oh, Mr. Heartful, you 
scarcely need make any apology. Your name is sufll- 
cient to introduce you into the best circles everywhere. 
The Heartfuls, of Heartfulville, are well known in the 
city. You are no sti'anger here, Sir !” Mr. Heai'tful is 
a little non plused ; feels as though he would rejoice to 
be in the free open country again, musing on the stars. 


54 


THE BLEMMERTONS; OR 


listening to the low, sad song of the Whip-poor-will, or 
holding sweet converse with J^ature ! 

“Dele, dear!” “This, Mr. Heartful, is my eldest 
daughter. Miss Deliah Airmyth Blemmerton, Mr. 
Heartful, my dear, of He artful ville, — of whom you 
heard your papa speak. Mr. Heartful is about to take 
up his residence permanently in the city, we hope !” 
“ O, I hope so,” says Miss Deliah Airmyth. “ It will 
really be an acquisition to society I Ah ! me, pity 
knows we need it.” 

Mr. Heartful has little relish for this line of conver- 
sation, and evidently w’ants something to say, — looks 
innocent, — splays with his watch-guard. At last, he 
has a happy thought, — his countenance brightens up : 
“ Was Miss Blemmerton ever in Heartful ville ?” “ Ho, 
she had never had that pleasure. But she had heard a 
great deal about Heartfulville. She believed her papa 
had a good many business transactions there ; and he 
went there very often himself without taking any 
of the family, which she regretted. And you are from 
Heartfulville, are you? O, how much I should like 
to visit the place ! The society there is so excel- 
lent! The people are so polished and highly edu- 
cated !” 

Poor Mr. Heartful felt down deep in his pockets, — 
thought of his tailor, his mirror, and his boots ! Could 
Miss Deliah Airmyth be in earnest, or was she quizzing 
him? 

“ O, how she would like to enjoy a ride on hoi*&e- 
back in the country ! She wished her papa would take 
them to Heartfulville next summer, instead of Saratoga 
or Hewport ! The novelty of these latter places had 


DOTTING S BY THE WAYSIDE. 


55 


worn out ; they were so tame and commonplace now, 
that they were quite tired of them !” 

“ Had Mr. Heartful been to Mons. Grandsinger’s con- 
cert? How did he like it?” Unfortunately, Mr. 
Heartful had not been to Mons. Grandsinger’s concert. 
“Then he had missed a rare entertainment. O, by all 
means he should not delay ! Mons. Grandsinger would 
give but two more concerts. She should go, on both 
occasions. Would not miss it for the world ! O, his 
performances are so exquisite ! He was her beau-ideal 
of a concertant!” 

Here this enlightened and edifying conversation was 
interrupted, by the approach of Mr. Blemmerton. Mr. 
Blemmerton is exceedingly gracious and patronizing. 
“ He takes but little interest in such convivialities. 
They are fashionable, and are, therefore, highly proper, 
and he is pleased to see young persons enjoy them- 
selves. Is happy indeed to enjoy the society of his 
friends, in such delightful entertainments; but feels 
rather out of place. Thinks he is better fitted for the 
counting-room than the drawing-room. Takes more 
interest in the affairs of the Church. Every man, he 
thinks, has his particular talent. Just now he is jpar- 
ticularly interested in the Church. 

“ He is a vestryman of St. ’s Church, and 

the Hector, Hev. Dr. Goodenough, has just sent in his 
resignation, on account of ill-health, and the infirmities 
of old age. Poor man, he hardly knows what he is to 
do ; for, though his salary was always large, yet he 
believes, that he has saved but little, if any thing, 
having never practised economy. The expense of living 
in the city is indeed very considerable ; but you know. 


56 THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 

Sir, that a clergyman needs not to be at as much 
expense as we, who have to entertain a great deal ; and 
then Dr. Goodenongh was so charitable, that I verily 
believe he entirely overlooked the first rule of charity, 
that ‘ it begins at home.’ But, I do not doubt, that the 
congregation will help him along ! 

“ At this moment, their great trouble was, to find a 
suitable successor. So many eminent men had been 
named to them, that they were really baffied in their 
choice. Dr. Goodenongh was very eloquent and pop- 
ular. Their congregation was large, wealthy, and 
intelligent, and there was a great variety of tastes to 
be satisfied ; therefore, it required a peculiar man to 
fit the place exactly ; and it was a nice point, to select 
a clergyman who could please all tastes and all parties 
interested. The Kev. Dr. Skyrocket had been named 
to them, as an exceedingly pleasing and captivating 
preacher ; one of the most entertaining men to be 
* found : his thoughts are always original and brilliant ; 
and he is so poetical, that one is always enraptured with 
the beauties of his composition! And a gentleman 
from the neighborhood of Mr. Heartful’s native place 
had spoken of a Bev. Mr. Lovegood, as one of the best 
pastors, and most eloquent of preachers, that he ever 
had heard. But, we know nothing of him, — ^never 
heard of him before. And it is strange that we have 
not, if he is so great a man 1 Still, as he has been so 
highly spoken of, by a gentleman in whose judgment I 
place confidence, I have determined to invite him to 
preach for us, that the congregation may judge how 
they would like him 1” 

“ A trial sermon, I suppose, as it is called?” “ Just 


D O T T I N G S BY T II K WAYSIDE. 67 

so: a trial sermon. Tlie congregation would like to 
judge of his style and voice, you know. For my part, 
I care not so much about matter and manner, as I do 
about voice. I detest one of your squeaking, wheezing 
voices !” “ Then I know you need not invite Mr. Love- 

good to do any such thing !” “ Ah ! you know him, do 

you, Mr. Heartful “I do : he has been my pastor 
for ten years !” “ You don’t say so ! Do tell ! How 

glad I am that you are acquainted with him ! And he 
wouldn’t come to preach a trial sermon, which might 

make him Hector of St. ’s Church !” “ Ho, 

Sir, not to be made the Potentate of the world !” “ Do 
tell ! That is so strange !” 

“ Hot at all, Mr. Blemmerton. At least, Mr. Love- 
good would tell you so. I have often heard him express 
his opinion on this subject. And I know he has refused 
many such invitations. He thinks it beneath the dignity 
of his office. I have heard him say, that he would feel 
but little removed from the office of the mountebank in 
such an engagement, and that he had degraded his 
office.” “ Bless me, it is so singular ! Why, a num- 
ber of the clergy do so ; indeed, the clergy of all the 
churches 

“ I know not, precisely, what that last sentence 
means, Mr. Blemmerton. But, Mr. Lovegood does not 
pattern after the sects. His opinion is simply, that it 
is unbecoming, to preach what are called trial-sermons. 
He thinks the general character and reputation of a 
clergyman ought to be quite sufficient ; that the hearing 
of a clergyman preach, is not a sufficient criterion to 
judge of his qualities as a pastor. If a clergyman is 
free from reproach, is faithful in the discharge of his 
3 <» 


58 THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 

duties, has strength of mind and body for the fulfilment 
of the duties of any post for which he may be recom- 
mended by tliose whose judgments are reliable, — these 
ought to be sufficient data for any congregation to base 
their call upon. These, at all events, are his views. 
He may be a little singular in them, but I know he 
will not depart from them ; he would not, I think, 
accept a call to any parish, on any other grounds.” 

“ Then you know him well ?” “ I do. Sir. And all 
I know about the Church, I know from him !” “ Well, 

what for a preacher is he ?” “ As a preacher, I con- 

sider him in the first rank. But, Mr. Blemmcrton, I 
cannot judge for your fastidious, sentimental congrega- 
tion. Such, at least, I take it to be, from your repre- 
sentation. You say their tastes are various ; and, in a 
multitude of tastes^ there will be differences. What 
pleases one, will likely displease another. I consider 
Mr. Lovegood very eloquent as a preacher, and so do 
all his congregation. Our tastes, in this respect, are a 
unit. But we consider this, if any thing, his least 
excellence. It is as a pastor, going in and out among 
his people, that they mostly admire and love him. 
There is but one opinion and one feeling in regard to 
him at home, among all ages, classes, and conditions ; 
he is loved and reverenced as a father !” 

“ Ah ! Mr. Heartful, that, after all, is what we want, 
a clergyman who will be popular, and beloved by all. 
Well, really, your account of Mr. Lovegood is quite 
gratifying. He must be an ‘Evangelical,’ of the real 
grit ! But is he a D. D. ?” “ JSTo, he is not a D. D. He 
covets no distinctions. I doubt whether he ever thought 
of such a thing. But, if ever a clergyman deserved 


DOT TINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


69 


that title, he does. And yet it could add nothing to 
Mr. Lovegood’s usefulness. It would make him not a 
whit abler as a divine, nor render him more lovely and 
venerable in the estimation of his congregation. Pie 
is an humble-minded, faithful man, — earnest, pathetic, 
tender, even as a father among his children. But he 
knows how to he sharp, when he finds it necessary. He 
is no hireling to flee, as the craven coward, when the 
wolf cometh !” 

“But, Mr. Heartful, are you sure that he is an Evan- 
gelical, — are you sure that he is not a Puseyite ?” “ Ah ! 
Sir, that I cannot tell you ; for I know not what you 
understand by evangelicalism. I know, that Mr. Love- 
good recognizes the Prayer-Book, from lid to lid, as the 
Church’s expositor of Holy Writ, and that he neither 
transcends nor falls below its teachings ; but, holds it to 
be his authorized guide, in the interpretation of Scrip- 
ture and his pastoral duties. This can hardly consti- 
tute him a Puseyite ^ — (unless you use that term as 
synonymous with Churchman,) — but does, I a]3prehend, 
constitute him a sound, thorough Churchman, and, 
according to my theory, a thoroughly evangelical 
teacher! Puseyism is something I never heard Mr. 
Lovegood speak of ; and I confess, that, though I have 
often heard the cognomen spitefully used, I have never 
heard it technically explained, nor have I even taken 
the pains to endeavor to ascertain exactly what is 
meant by it. Perhaps, if you can tell its meaning, I 
ma}^ be able more satisfactorily to answer your ques- 
tion 1” 

“Well, let me see. Ah, well ! It means, — I don’t 
know that I can tell ! I do not profess to be much 


60 THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 

versed in such matters. I could tell you all about my 
bank books and bills, and my rent-roll ! But, really, — 
ha ! ha ! ha !~*I am not posted as they say on 
’Change, in such matters! Oh, yes, that’s it, — Mrs. 
Blemmerton can tell ! Mrs. Blemmerton I” “ What, 
my dear ?” “ Do tell us, what Puseyism means ! Mr. 

Heartful and I have been talking about Church affaim, 
and strange to tell, neither of us knows exactly what 
Puseyism is ! And I am sure it is not to be wondered 
at, for Mr. Heartful is not yet fully initiated into all 
the ways of the city, and I have but little time for 
any thing except business. Ha! ha ! ha ! I just 
told Mr. Heartful, if it were a question of bank books, 
bills, and rent-rolls, 1 could answer him ! How do tell 
us, my dear, for you have more time for such things 
than we.” 

“ O certainly, my dear ! Let me see. I heard Mrs. 

Wise Grumbler, — she, you know, who left St. ’s 

Church 'because they had prayers every day in the 
week, which she says is rank Puseyism, — well, I heard 
her say, that these Puseyites have been much talked 
about of late, as having done a great deal of harm in 
the Church ! They are very Bomish, too, in their ten- 
dencies ! And we abhor Romanism ! They lay great 
stress on the sacraments, especially on baptism, and 
undervalue preaching. They also preach what is called 
the Apostolic succession, which, old Aunt Sally Milk- 
andwater stands to it, unchurches all the other Churches. 
And then, as Dele Airmyth said that Dr. Riproarer said 
(we are charitable, Mr. Heartful, and go to all the 
Churches) in his sermon last Sunday night, the Puseyite 
clergy are so exceedingly faithful in the discharge of 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


61 


tlieir duties, in looking after the poor, in watching over 
their congregations, that nothing escapes their eye ; and 
they make themselves so winning and fascinating by 
their kindnesses, that the people are in danger of being 
carried right smack into Ronie, before they are aware 
of it, — and so he warned his flock against their insinu- 
ations !” 

“ Well, if faithfulness constitutes a clergyman a 
Puseyite, then is Mr. Lovegood a thorough Puseyite ! 
And I just said, that he held the Prayer-Book, and 
certainly he could not do that, and deny or fail to hold 
and teach the Apostolic succession !” “ Oh, Sir, pardon 

me ! I don’t think Mrs. Blemmerton meant that, noi 
did Dr. Riproarer intend to be so understood. But he 
must have meant, that they were so zealous, that the 
people, in their zeal, lost sight of their true character 
and peculiar notions, and so they gradually introduced 
them.” 

“ Ah, you mean, they catch the people witli guile. 
Tliere must be a great many guileful clergymen in the 
Church, if all who hold the Apostolic succession, lay 
great stress on the sacraments, and are in favor of daily 
prayers in the Church, have been inveigled into these 
notions by their craftiness. And what a beautiful guile- 
fulness it is. The Church has always been full of it. 
Trace her history where you may, and you behold its 
marks. She copied it from the Apostles, who taught 
the Apostolic succession, laid great stress on the sacra- 
ments, and had daily prayers ! St. Paul was full of 
this same guile ; and once had it insinuated of him, 
that he caught the people with guile. ‘ I did not bur- 
den you ; nevertheless, being crafty, I caught you with 


62 


THE BLEMMERTONS; OR 


guile,’ 2 Cot. xii. 15. But, he rej^lies to the implied 
insinuation, and nobly vindicates himself. In refusing 
to be burdensome to you myself, it was only a stroke 
of policy, you say ! Be it so. But I ask : ‘ Did I make 
a gain of you, by any of them whom I sent to you? 
Did Titus make a gain of you? Walked we not in the 
same spirit? Walked we not in the same steps? \ Cor. 
xii. 17, 18. Wherein, then, was the guile, unless in 
good works and self-denial, in refusing to be burden- 
some to them in pecuniary or temporal matters ? But 
hear him further, in his noble vindication : ‘ Again, 
think you that we excuse ourselves unto you? We 
speak before God in Christ ; but we do all things, dearly 
beloved, for your edifying.’ 

“ And so, Mr. Blemmerton, to answer your question 
as fully as I am able, if Mr. Lovegood be one of the 
guileful ones, his guile is like that of the Apostle ! He 
as cordially abhors the errors of Bomanism, as any 
man. In truth, he is no friend of error anywhere, un- 
der whatever cloak or colors. But, his zeal against 
error is intelligent, and tempered with prudence and 
discretion. He knows what he is about. He does not 
beat the air, nor use language that he does not under- 
stand. He appreciates the grounds of true Catholicism, 
and meets and opposes Borne on those grounds. He is 
not run mad, fighting shadows. He does not rashly 
reject any thing, simply because Borne happens to hold 
it; but, what he rejects, he rejects because it is not 
true, not a part of the one Holy Catholic Faith, whether 
it be found in Borne or Geneva I Hor has he any sym- 
pathy with those whose faces are wards, — or 

looking towards, and longing after Geneva ! He wishes. 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 63 

that if any such remain behind in the Church, they 
would hasten to make their exit. 

“ He finds the one Holy Catholic Faith whole and 
entire in the Church, without the additions of Home, or 
the subtractions of Geneva ; and to this he clings. He 
laments the mistaken policy and false step of the few, 
who have gone out from us to join the ranks of E-ome 
and the sects. But, their rashness and folly, I can 
safely say, will never shake his confidence in the 
Church, as to her possession and profession of the truth, 
nor cause him to swerve, one jot or tittle, in the 
proclamation of the doctrines of the Church, as they 
have been handed down from the beginning, and are 
defined in the teachings of the Prayer-Book, — the Lit- 
urgy. Offices, Articles, and Homilies. Heither does 
Mr. Lovegood undervalue preaching, but rather insists 
upon it as a Divine institution, wherein he himself sets a 
most worthy example, as an apt and skilful divider of 
the words of life. He does, indeed, lay great stress on 
the sacraments, just as the Scriptures do. But I never 
heard him deliver a sermon, on either of the sacra- 
ments, in which he did not show conclusively, that his 
doctrine corresponded with the Scripture and the Prayer- 
Book. And surely this ought to be sufficient for any 
Churchman !” 

Thus far, upon the whole, notwithstanding the an- 
noyance of the foregoing conversation, Mr. Heartful had 
spent an agreeable evening : for, nothing could have 
been more congenial, than to speak of his beloved pas- 
tor, and the Church which he loved so well, and appre- 
ciated so truly. 

“ Who is that gentleman with whom papa is convers- 


64 : 


THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 


ing in the corner ?” said Miss Julia Jasper Blemmer- 
ton to her sister Deliah Airmyth. O, J ulia, that is 
Mr. Heartful, of Heartful ville ! Isn’t he handsome ? 
Haven’t you been introduced yet ? W ell, go round 
towards papa, and as soon as he sees you he will intro- 
duce you.” Miss Julia Jasper moves in the direction 
of her papa. “ O, Julia, dear, you are not acquaint- 
ed with Mr. Heartful ! Mr. Heartful, this is my young- 
est daughter, Miss Julia Jasper Blemmerton.” 

And Mr. Heartful has the distinguished honor of 
standing in the presence of the belle of the family. 
“ Miss Julia Jasper is quite fatigued, from the exercises 
of the evening,” — seeks a sofa. Mr. Heartful, of course, 
follows suit. “ Does Mr. Heartful dance ?” “ Ho, — 
that is an accomplishment that Mr. Heartful is not mas- 
ter of. In fact, he has no taste for it.” “Miss Julia 
Jasper is surprised. Keally, she could not live with- 
out dancing. She j^ities any one who is not fond of 
dancing.” “Mr. H. is obliged for her commiseration.” 
Miss Julia Jasper smiles approvingly. 

“ What amusements afford Mr. H. the most pleas- 
ure ?” “ Mr. Heartful is not addicted to any particu- 

lar amusements. He rides out occasionally, for exer- 
cise, and spends his leisure hours in reading.” “ Oh 
dear, reading to me is such a bore, unless I get hold of 
a really spicy novel. And a spicy novel is so rare ; 
most of the light reading of the present day is so 
trashy !” “ Mr. Heartful agrees with Miss Julia Jas- 

per, that there is a great amount of lightness in much 
of the cun-ent light literature. But, he suggests, that 
she might find something more entertaining, in the 
works of substantial merit and usefulness. Something 


DOT TINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


65 


historical, or scientific, would expand the mind by 
affording it solid instruction. At best, he thought 
nothing more than the poetry of life was to be found in 
sentimental works.” '‘But, Miss Julia Jasper had so 
much to do with substantials at school, that she is 
heartily sick and tired of them.” 

And the belle of the family is threatened with a fit 
of nervousness, at the bare mention of sound, solid, 
wholesome reading. Mr. Heartful feared, though he 
kept his fears to himself,- that the extent of Miss Julia 
Jasper’s education consisted in dancing a waltz or two, 
or drumming a few notes on the piano. He doubted 
whether she had ever read, understandingly, half a doz- 
en books in her life. 

“ But Miss Julia Jasper was passionately fond of mu- 
sic. She practised two hours, every evening that they 
hadn’t company. Last evening, she was ridiculously 
interrupted, in the midst of a most enrapturing piece of 
music ; and she had been in an ill humor ever since, 
which she really thought pardonable. Mamma had 
given the servants leave of absence a while, that eve- 
ning, and there was no one to answer the bell ; and, in 
the very midst of my music, the bell rang. I hurried 
to the door, and oh ! just to think, it was only a little 
urchin who wanted to see papa ! How, wasn’t that 
provoking ?” “ Was it a boy or girl ?” “ Oh ! a little 

ragged, barefooted girl. Dear me. Sir, the city is full 
of them. There is no living in peace for them. I do 
wish we could get where there are no beggars ! I think 
Dives must have grown accustomed to them. And one 
half of them are impostors. It is a great pity the po- 
lice do not look after them.” “What did the little 


66 ..THE B L E M M E R T O N S ; OR, 

girl want, Miss Julia Jasper?” ‘‘ Oh, the same old 
story. Her mother w^as sick, and her father was dying. 
W anted to see papa. Her father lived in one of his houses, 
and she wanted to see papa about the rent, — wanted 
him to give it up, I reckon. It was the sixth time she 
had been to the door, within the last three days. And 
she had been told, again and again, not to annoy us. 
Oh, the impudence of these people!” 

“ Did she see your papa ?” “ Ho. Papa was not in ; 

and if he had been, it would have been all the same. 
He has lost a great deal of rent by that man ; and I 
heard him say, that he did not intend to lose any more. 
Besides, papa says, the expense of living is becoming 
so great, that he can’t afford to be over-indulgent. We 
must dress in the fashion, you know, Mr. Heartful ; and 
ma must give parties, and furnish her house like other 
people. She had as well be out of the world as out of 
the fashion ! And if papa listened to the stories of all 
these people, he would never get a penny of rent from 
one of them. And a large portion of his income is 
from the rent of his houses in the occupancy of that 
class. These little beggar girls are very expert. They 
can cry, just when they please. I wish you could have 
been here, to see how lustily she cried, and wrung her 
hands, just as though she was in earnest. How admi- 
rably they would act on the stage 1 They are ahead of 
nature. It’s by long practice. Sir ; and practice makes 
perfect.” 

“But, Miss Julia Jasper, I think it highly probable, 
that that little girl was not an impostor. May it not 
have been, that she really had at home a sick mother, 
and a dving father, and came to implore mercy?” 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


67 


“ O, no, Sir ! I have no confidence in any of them. 
They are so well drilled in imposture, that you never 
know how to place confidence in any of them. You 
have not lived here long enough yet, Mr. Heartful, to 
understand them.” 

“ I have lived here long enough to witness much 
of wretchedness, much of misery and sorrow. Had 
you been with me, last night, as I followed a lone, 
little barefooted, beggar girl to her home of poverty ; 
had you, with me, entered that home of wretchedness, 
and, with me, witnessed the dying agonies of that father, 
and heard the heavy sighing of the sick mother, and 
looked upon that mute, crushed, half-clad, half-starved 
child, destitute of food or fuel, and listened to the dying 
man’s tale of woe, of long years of penury and pinch- 
ing want, you would hardly have suspected all the beg- 
gar girls of imposture. O ! that there were more 
angels of mercy in the world, fulfilling the law of chari- 
ty and love !” 

Mr. Heartful was sick at the heart. He was too full 
for utterance. “ Parvi afiectus loquuntur, magni ta- 
cent.” O that he stood again beneath the majestic 
elm, which so gracefully spread its branches before his 
father’s door ! O for that quiet, unsophisticated, pure 
home of his childhood, where the tainted breath of 
worldliness mingled not, to mar the breathings of the 
pure in heart ! And this was a sample of fashionable 
life,— life in the world. Life, life, said he, half aloud, 
how many shades mingle in thy picture ! Memories of 
the past gushed into his full heart, carrying him back 
to the day of his simple childhood. His silver-headed 


68 


THE BLEMMEKTONS; OE, 


parents, ripe with age and honors, were before him. 
He beheld them again, as they stood, one foot in the 
grave, and, with streaming eyes and uplifted hands, in- 
voked the blessing of Heaven upon him. O ! how 
pure, how sanctified was that memory ! 

He could see himself a simple, artless child, one of a 
company of six happy boys and girls, all on bended 
knee, forming a circle around his beloved mother, their 
little heads nestling in her lap, and cheerful hearts and 
lips repeating ‘‘ Our Father.” O blessed day of child- 
hood! Thou canst ne^er return again. O blessed 
mothek’s love ! still linger about us, and guide us on 
our way 1 

“ Go out, go out into the busy world, fulfil thy des- 
tined lot ; but ah 1 let not these sainted days be ever 
blotted from thy memory. Let them ever be as the 
bow in the cloud, giving a type of a brighter day in 
the hours of gloom and darkness. Watch on, wait on, 
struggle on ; the clouds will roll away at last. And as 
thou standest on the mountain height of Hope’s youth- 
ful picturing, a stream of light, pure, transparent, shall 
flow softly down upon thee from the throne of the 
Eteknal, and chase away the shadows of darkness. 
But ah 1 remember, that as thou standest upon that 
mountain height, the stream of light which shall fall 
upon thee, shall cast a shadow from thee into the valley 
helow ^ — and it shall lengthen out toward the tomb, — 
stretch away toward the evening, when the toil shall 
be ended, — and toward the morning of the Kesm-rec- 
tion, when man shall stand in judgment before his God ! 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


69 


CHAPTER VI. 

A FURTHER INSIGHT INTO THE CHARACTER OF THE BLEM- 

MERTONS. A VESTRY MEETING. OBSTINATE PEOPLE. 

Mr. Heartful liad pretty thoroughly read the Bleni' 
mertons. Mrs. and the Misses B. were but gilded but- 
terflies, making a desperate efibrt at appearances, 
striving for a position among the elite and fashionable, 
— the aristocratic, as they termed them, — without any 
other qualiflcation than that of wealth, to back their 
pretensions. Nevertheless, wealth is potent and covers 
a multitude of blemishes ; and, backed by it, they were 
gradually edging their way into the best society. It is, 
then, not to be wondered at, that minds constituted as 
theirs were, should be elated by the dignity of their 
position, and dazzled by the importance which they 
supposed attached to their name ! Their highest ambi- 
tion was to be popular, to be accounted liberal-minded, 
and of importance in society, — to bask a brief day in 
the sunshine of worldly folly and fashion, while morally 
they remained devoid of even a single principle to meet 
the stern realities of life, and possessed but few, if any, 
of those marked traits of character which constitute the 
true woman^ and fit her for her sphere of dignity and 
usefulness as an angel of love and mercy in the world. 

Mr. Blemmerton had worked his way from extreme 
poverty up to wealth. But he had long since forgotten 
the humility of his younger days. Dollars and cents 


70 THE BLEMMEETONS; OE, 

were every thing in his estimation, and were all that 
gave a man importance. Dollars and cents, he was 
pretty sure, could move the world. Had Archimedes 
possessed his philosophy, he would not have been 
baffled in his problem. 

Possessing this powerful lever, he was willing to use 
it to the full extent of the ambition of his wife and 
daughters. Purse-proud, he doubted not that his 
wealth gave him importance and influence in the 
Church, and he wished to magnify himself in the eyes 
of Mr. Heartful. But if Mr. H. understood but little of 
the ways and workings of ’what Mrs. Blemmerton with 
affected ndvcete termed high life^ he did understand 
something about the Church. He was not long in dis- 
covering that Mr. B. was no Churchman ; and this in 
no invidious sense. His churchmanship was not simply 
meager and of a low standard in the estimation of Mr. 
H., but,~to be guilty intentionally of writing what 
may be considered an unmeaning sentence, — it was 
absolutely nothing ; as More would write, it was a 
nihility. Had he been imbued with any, even the 
least spark of real love of the Church, though he might 
have entertained views which Mr. H. could not have 
sanctioned, yet would he have left him much more 
favorably impressed. He could and would have 
esteemed him for his sincere affection for the Church 
and religion, and have extended to him such a measure 
of confldence and regard as he found he deserved. 
But, alas ! there was no such element in Mr. Blemmer- 
ton’s character. He had no interest in any thing that 
did not minister to his own and his family’s ambition. 
He was a pure worldling, and took the world for his 


DOT TINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 71 

measure and reward. It was simply for fashion’s sake 

that he had taken a pew in St. ’s Church. It 

brought the Blemmertons into notice. It made a 
pleasant Sunday’s resort, afforded Mrs. and the Misses 
B. a theme for the week’s gossip, and enabled them to 
see the fashions and display their wealth in their gor- 
geous attire. It gave them an ujpjpish look and ten- 
dency. 

Having mastered, as he supposed, a few cant phrases 
of the day, such as “ Evangelical ” and “ Puseyite,” in 
these he vested his stock of theological knowledge, and 
fancied himself almost, if not quite, a Doctor in 
Divinity ! 

“ Evangelical” preaching, in his mind, was merely 
a dandyizing performance in the pulpit, in which there 
mingled an occasional flash of lightning and a peal of 
thunder, — with as little of sulphur as possible. And 
“ evangelical ” doctrine was that which merely dealt in 
generals^ discoursed at large on the beauties and excel- 
lences of the Gospel, talked about grace and the 
world’s sinfulness, gave the old enemy a sound thresh- 
ing occasionally, avoided indoctrinating, especially on 
such out-of-the-way, unpopular subjects as the Church, 
the ministry, and the sacraments ; and always avoided, 
as far as possible, coming down with the power and 
energy of that sentence which makes a shaking of the 
dry bones, as of the Lord’s Spirit passing over them, — 
“ Thou art the man !” 

In short, “ evangelical ” preaching, in Mr. Blemmer- 
ton’s estimation, was merely a shooting at sin on the 
wing^ but never cornering it up ; never following it into 
a man’s counting-room, or parlor, or even into his pew ! 


72 THE BLEMMEETONS; OE, 

[N'o, no ; this would not answer for Mr. Blemmerton. 
His conscience was his citadel ; it was sacred ; it must 
not he disturbed. Clergymen should not be pointed 
nor personal. They are not hwed for that ! but to 
preach, so as to tickle the fancy, — please the poetical 
imagination of the Blemmertons and such like grandees! 
As to a clergyman’s coming right to the point, and 
making every man feel his particular sinfulness, hold- 
ing before him a mirror in which he might behold 
himself; ah! this never crossed his mind. And to 
his mind all, or nearly all, was “ Puseyism,” that did 
not exactly fit his measure of “ Evangelicalism.” 

How, it must be told, that the Yestry of St. ’s 

Church were not all Blemmertons. Hay, they were 
right-hearted, right-minded men, — men who loved and 
appreciated the Church, and esteemed those who were 
over them in the Lord, very highly in love for their 
work’s sake. 1 Thess. v. 13. But, by hook or by 
crook, Mr. Blemmerton had worked himself in among 
them, and was now vain enough to think, that all 
responsibility rested on his shoulders. Consequently, 
he was just now wonderfully puffed up with his impor- 
tance in the Church. And the task of supplying St. 

’s Church with a Hector, was no insignificant 

one. If he could do it, it would be “ a feather in his 
cap ” of no ordinary beauty and brilliancy. He was 
but little pleased with Mr. Heartful’s account of the 
B,ev. Mr. Lovegood, on the whole. Yet, full of vanity, 
desiring to manifest his importance and infiuence to 
the other members of the Yestry and to the congrega- 
tion, it struck him that it would be a capital stroke of 
policy, if he could get the start of his colleagues, and 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 73 

introduce tlie Rev. Mr. Lovegood to the congregation, 
in the pulpit, the Sunday or so following. 

Mr. Blemmerton slept but little, that night. Mr. 
Lovegood, the Church, the Yestry, his own conse- 
quence, — -especially the last, weighed heavily on his 
mind, and chased Morpheus from his pillow. The 
matter was duly discussed with Mrs. Blemmerton. She 
entirely agreed, that his plan was excellent. “ Just the 
thing!” said she. “We are as much entitled to an 
opinion as any one. We pay a hundred dollars a year 
for our pew, and I am sure we are worth nearly as 
much as all the rest of the Yestry put together. And 
if I were you, I’d have my way !” This was enough. 
Mrs. Blemmerton knew all the fashions^ and certainly 
she could not be mistaken on this point. And Julia 
Jasper and Deliah Airmyth were just as decided in 
sustaining the resolution ! 

Early the next morning Mr. Blemmerton wrote and 
despatched the following epistle : 

“ , November — , 18 — . 

“ Rev. Sir : — ^The Rev. Dr. ‘Goodenough having 

resigned the Rectorship of St. ’s Church in this 

city, and the congregation being desirous of filling his 
place with a suitable preacher^ and your name having 
been favorably mentioned to me, this is to request, that 
you will preach for us, either on next Sunday, or the 
Sunday following, as may best suit your convenience. 
Enclosed please find $10 to pay your expenses. 

“ Yery respectfully, etc., 

“John Blemmerton.” 


4 


74 THE BLEMMEKTONS; OK, 

After despatching the aforesaid letter, Mr. B. felt 
relieved of a great burden. He could now proceed to 
business. The ihing was done. He was in a good 
humor, — fully satisfied with himself. He chuckled 
over the idea. Mr. Heartful! — Pshaw! he knew 
nothing about human nature. Won’t come to preach 

a trial sermon for the RectorsTiip of St, 

Church! Poh, poh, poh, nonsense! We shall see. 
Human nature is human nature, all the w^orld over. 

Mr. Blemmerton is interrupted in his revery, by a 
lad who bears a note. It was from one of the wardens, 

calling a meeting of the Yestry of St. ’s Church 

the next evening. “ Heigh-ho ! what does this mean 
quoth Mr. Blemmerton. “ A Yestry meeting, eh ! 
Well, well, we shall see.” 

****** 

The evening arrived ; the Yesti-y met ; and, to Mr. 
Blemmerton’s surprise, it was called to consider Dr. 
Goodenough’s resignation, and also to elect a successor. 
A member arose, and proposed the following resolu- 
tions : 

“ Resolved,^ unanimously, by the Yestry of St. 

’s Church, that we have received with pain and 

regret the resignation of our beloved Hector, the Hev. 
Dr. Goodenough ; and that we are the more grieved, if 
possible, at the cause which has led to the severance of 
a tie so near and dear to all the congregation whom we 
represent, — protracted ill health. 

“ Resolved,^ That we record with pleasure the debt 
of gratitude due, by this congregation, to the Hev. Dr. 
Goodenough, for his faithful and efllcient services for 
the past twenty years ; and, in consideration of that 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 75 

debt of gratitude, and the affection entertained by this 
congregation for Dr. G., who, as a loving and venerable 
father, has worn himself out in the spiritual service ot 
us his children in the Gospel, the Vestry hereby vote 
to him twenty-five hundred dollars per annum for the 
residue of his life ; and after his death, should her life 
be spared beyond his, one thousand dollars per annum 
to his estimable wife, whom w'e cherish as a mother.” 

Mr. Blemmerton begged leave to object, very stren- 
uously, to that resolution. It was a great sum of money. 
In all his experience in the Church, he had never 
known such a thing to be done. He thought, that ves- 
trymen were servants of the congregation ; and, for his 
part, he wished to be cautious about squandering the 
money of those whom he represented. He had a con- 
science in the matter, and expected to be held to an 
account for his deeds. He would vote for the first 
resolution, most cheerfully ; for, no member of that 
Yestry was more attached to Dr. G. than himself, nor 
had he any more ardent admirer. Hor did he doubt, 
that the congregation ought to be very charitable to 
Dr. G. ; and, if left to themselves, they would be. Let 
them manifest their charities in a different way, each 
one giving what he or she pleases. These were his 
views. The money part of that resolution he could 
not vote for. It was saddling the congregation with an 
enormous tax, that would require a considerable increase 
in pew-rents. He now paid a hundred dollars per 
annum for his pew ; and, in all conscience, that was 
enough. And if Dr. G. was poor, it was his own fault. 
For twenty years he had enjoyed a large salary, and, 
with economy, by this time he ought to have been 


76 theblemmertons;ok, 

independent. Entertaining these views, he felt bound 
to vote against that resolution ; and he felt strongly per- 
suaded, that he would be borne out by the congregation. 

]^o one replied to Mr. B.’s speech. He stood alone 
in his glory ; but without vanquishing the foe. The 
President of the meeting put the vote. It was carried ; 
all voting in the affirmative except Mr. Blemmerton ! 

The President. — “ The next thing in order, gentle- 
men, is the election of a Kector to succeed the Bev. Dr. 
Goodenough.” This he pronounced in a tremulous 
voice, as the big tear-drops stood in his eyes. “ I have 
a gentleman to nominate, whose name and character 
have been placed before me by Dr. Goodenough. And 
here I trust we shall be entirely unanimous ; for, it is 
by no means certain, that we can procure the gentle- 
man I have in view, even if we give him a unanimous 
vote. He is ardently attached to the people among 
whom he has labored for ten years, and they are as de- 
votedly attached to him. And I feel as though we 
were about to offer to tear a father from.his children. I 

therefore name the Rev. Mr. Lovegood, Rector of 

Church, Heartfulville. If any of you are unacquainted 
with his excellent reputation, I need only say, upon the 
authority of Dr. Goodenough, that he is in every respect 
just the man for us. That is enough for me, gentlemen, 
and, I doubt not, quite enough for you.” 

“ It is not enough for me,” said Mr. Blemmerton, 
who, during the delivery of the brief remarks of the 
President, had been very restive. “ It is not enough 
for me. Hor do I believe it will satisfy the congrega- 
tion. I am for pleasing the congregation. Mrs. Fas- 
tidious, Mrs. Hochurch, and Mrs. Fussy, all express- 


DOT TINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. “77 

ed to me their decided opinion, that the Yestrj ought 
to call no clergyman to this important charge, until the 
congregation have had the privilege of hearing him 
preach, that they may judge of his style, voice, etc., and 
see what he looks like. This is my decided conviction. 
I won’t vote for any man, till I have seen him, and 
heard him preach. And then, he hails from a very in- 
significant post ; and I do contend, that St. ’s is 

entitled to a preacher of greater reputation. Our sala- 
ry will command the highest talent in the land. And 
I am not for making any man’s reputation. I want a 
man who brings a reputation with him. Why, he is 
not even a D. D. ! You see, gentlemen, that I know 
something about Mr. Lovegood ; and, from what I 
know, I should like to hear him preach, and I think it 
probable he will preach here in a Sunday or two. But 
it is not clear, that I could vote for him after hearing 
him, for I think he is strongly tainted with Puseyism ; 
yet that I would agree to waive, provided he pleased in 
every other respect, and so would Mrs. Fussy, Mrs. Fas- 
tidious, and Mrs. Nochurch, and the rest.” Again 
there was no reply. 

“ Gentlemen,” said the President, “ the Eev. Mr. 
Lovegood is put in nomination for the Rectorship of 
this church. You who are in favor of that nomination 
will please say. Aye.” All again in the affirmative, 
except Mr. Blemmerton. 

The next mail conveyed to Mr. Lovegood the follow- 
ing letter : 

“ , November^ — , 18 — . 

“ Rev. and Deae Sie : — At a meeting of the Yestry 
of St. ’s Church, held last evening, you were 


78 THE BLEMMEKTOHS; OE, 

elected Eector of the aforesaid church, to succeed the 
Eev. Dr. Goodeuough, who has resigned on account of 
ill health ; and the undersigned was required to com- 
municate the fact to you, and earnestly and alfection- 
ately to urge you to accept the charge of our congrega- 
tion. In communicating the wishes of the Y estry, Eev. 
and dear Sir, it is my duty to inform you, that your 
election lacked one vote of being unanimous. But I 
beseech you not to permit that circumstance to deter 
you from accepting our call ; for, were I at liberty to 
speak freely, I could satisfy you, that without that vote 
your choice will give the utmost satisfaction to all true 
friends of the church in the congregation, and your ac- 
ceptance will be hailed with joy. 

“ I know that we are asking you to sever very dear 
ties ; and yet I trust soon to have the pleasure of com- 
municating your favorable decision to the Yestry and 
congregation. Eest assured, my dear Sir, that, in cast- 
ing your lot amongst us, you will find warm hearts and 
sincere friends, who will strive to be worthy of you, and 
to compensate, in some measure, for the severance of 
the ties that you will make in accepting our call. 

“ Should you be disposed to visit us before coming lo 
a determination, please make my house your home, 
Ho. — , street. 

“ With great respect, 

“ I am truly your friend and servant in Christ, 

“ , Warden.’^ 

* * * * 

There are some persons in the world, who will not 
work right. They will be crooked, contrary, self-willed. 
If you desire them to go this way, they will persist in 


DOT’TINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 79 

going that. It is useless to ply them with reason, or the 
gentle inflnenc6 of persuasion ; this only makes them 
worse, more unmanageable. They will be stubborn, 
unruly, and defy all your efforts to mould them into any 
thing but what they are, and that is every thing per- 
verse and provoking. There is but one word that ex- 
actly fits the character of such, — mulish. This word is 
exactly appropriate, and fills up every part of their 
character. Whoever is conversant with the whimsies 
of an old mule, or who has witnessed his stubborn an- 
tics, will be able to appreciate the application. 

Fancy yourself on a southern farm, on a hot summer’s 
day, about noon. In yonder corn-field, in full view of 
the farm-house, you behold a negro boy at the handles 
of a jDlough, drawn by a mule. The rows of corn, to 
which he is casting furrows, extend in a straight line to 
within a few rods of the manger. His muleship comes 
slowly along, in a patient, meditative mood. The 
plough-boy has a dull, drowsy look ; and, to keep his 
eyes open, whistles a note which floats out on the still 
air. And so they go along, shutting out all sublunary 
things, and wrapt in their own philosophic meditations. 
In this way they have proceeded, half the length of the 
furrow, at the end of which they would be within a 
stone’s throw of the manger and the ample dinner of 
his muleship. Presently, you see the cook take down 
from a shelf a long tin horn to call the hands to their 
dinner. “ Toot, — toot, — toot !” you hear the hour ring 
out. 

His muleship is done with pliilosophizing. He knows 
what that sound means, as well as any one. He pricks 
up his ears, and stops as suddenly as though a bullet 


80 THE BLEMMEETONS; OE, 

had passed through his heart. “ Go on, you J ack !” 
says the driver. Eut Jack moves not. “ Go on, you 
sir !” and the driver gives him the line. Eut Jack puts 
his head down, — sets his fore -feet firmly out. Jack will 
not budge, another step. He must be relieved of his 
harness just there. Hothing else can be done. He will 
have his own way, right or wrong. It is useless to ar- 
gue with him. He will not hear it. 

One other illustration. Who has not heard of the 
Dutchman, ’who, being urged into a good work, with 
arguments that he could not answer, after taxing his in- 
genuity to the utmost extent, cut the whole argument 
short, with this significant and unanswerable reply, in 
his own peculiar dialect? “It’s no use to talk with me. 
I’m a Dutchman^ and you canH do any thing with a 
DutohmanP The point was yielded, the case incura- 
ble. 

And so, no amount of reasoning would have con- 
vinced Mr. Elemmerton, of the impropriety of his course. 
His eyes could see only in one direction. His horizon 
was bounded by self-will, right or wrong. There was 
to him but one world of thought, reason and opinion, — 
that in which he himself moved, — as the sole guiding 
and governing power. Therefore, after his display at 
the Y estry meeting, and his signal defeat, he returned 
to his home, more angered and chagrined, than mor- 
tified. 

Mrs. Elemmerton thought it preposterous. “ Why, 
how could they act so! Didn’t even reply to your 
speech, Mr. Elemmerton ? It was certainly indicative of 
one fact, — that it was unanswerable. Eut it was posi- 
tively disrespectful. And voted a thousand dollars per 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 81 

annum to Mrs. Goodenougli, in case she should outlive 
Dr. G.! Well, I think they have feathered their nests, 
as old Aunt Sally Milkandwater would say. The other 
was had enough ; but, really, that caps the climax. 
What will Mrs. l^ochurch and Mrs. Fussy say to that ? I 
wonder who would give me a thousand dollars per an- 
num in case I should be left a widow. And who’s to 
pay it all? It’s easy enough for them who have no- 
thing, to pass resolutions, but not quite so easy, I guess, 
to raise money. Ah ! that’s the rub ! When they 
haven’t John Blemmerton’s pocket to look to, I guess 
they’ll find themselves in a pickle. ISTo, not one cent, 
not one cent of it will go from this house ; that I’m fully 
resolved on. And I’ll not notice another of them. 
They’ll know who is who, I can tell them. ISTow I’ve 
done, — my skirts are clear.” 

“ Deliah Airmyth, you go round to-morrow morning 
to Mrs. Charitas, the President of that sewing- society ; 
and tell her, that I can’t have them meet at my house 
next week. Ho, no ; no more favors from the Blem- 
mertons. You need not tell her why. You know they 
were to have met at Mrs. Hopeful’s ; but I insisted on 
their meeting here, and it will look independent in me 
to decline it. I guess they’ll be for pressing it ; but 
remember. Dele, the law is passed. They can’t meet 
here. I don’t want them. We will not be made foot- 
balls of ; and I guess we can get along, quite as well 
without them, as they can without us. And now we’ll 
see who’s the hardest. It is as much as I can do, to go 
to church again. Indeed, they’ll have to make apolo- 
gies, or I’ll take a pew in Dr. Bi^roarer^s Church 

Draw the curtain. Close the scene. Let Mr. and 

4 » 


82 


THE BLEMMERTONS; OR 


Mrs. Blemmerton sleep, if they can. They need it. 
Perhaps they will feel better in the morning. This is a 
world of sorrows and troubles ; but all things are shut 
out and forgotten, in dream-land. Sweet is the pillow 
of repose, to the throbbing temples and aching heart, 
when purity and innocence are our companions. Keep 
sound wisdom and discretion. Then shalt thou walk in 
thy way safely, and thy foot shall not stumble. When 
thou liest down, thou shalt not be afraid; yea, thou 
shalt lie down and thy sleep shall be sweet.” Prov. iii. 
21, 24. Holy type, unto the pure in heart, of their last 
sleep I — “ For so he giveth His beloved sleep,” until the 
morning come when the dead bodies shall revive and be 
animated again with the living soul. “ If we believe 
that Jesus died and rose again, even so them also which 
sleep in Jesus will God bring with Him.” 1 Thess. 
iv. 14. 

But ah, the carpings of pride, the wincing soreness 
of ambition, the chafings of an evil heart, — ^these set 
thorns in the pillow, making it a rack of torture in the 
night-watches, bringing “ fear ” upon the wicked, and 
“ trembling,” which make all their ‘‘ bones to shake.” 
“Awake, thou that sleepest, and rise from the dead, 
and Christ shall give thee light.” Eph. v. 14. 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


83 


CHAPTER VIL 

ME. LOVEGOOD ; HIS HABITS AND HIS SANCTUM. 

Mr. Lovegood had as yet never married. Why he 
had not, I cannot say. It certainly was not because he 
was too young. In his younger days, he had cherished 
a tender passion ; so, at least, I gathered, from a hint in 
the conclusion of an old manuscript which he once per- 
mitted me to read. “ It is,” said he, as he handed it to 
me, “ as faithful a transcript of a dream I once had, as 
my feeble pen could draw. It has been of service to 
me through the years that have intervened, and it may 
be of service to you.” 

It was headed : 


“ SINGULAR DREAM.” 

I stood, metliought, at the base of a vast and singu- 
larly beautiful mountain. As far up as the eye could 
reach, it was covered with “ living green.” On its 
pinnacle, I thought, stood a vast temple, from whose 
windows there streamed forth floods of light, which en- 
wrapped the whole mountain, and bathed it in beauty. 
From that great temple, methought, all the wondei^ of 
vast creation opened to the view ; worlds upon worlds 
wheeling in their orbits, through the immensity ot 
space. And thence issued strains of music, unknown to 
earth, which floated out on the air, and fell gently on 
my ears, as from the harpings of the heavenly hosts. I 


84 THE B LEMMER tons; OR, 

was striving at its base, to ascend that beautiful moun- 
tain, — but to no purpose. I could make no progress. 
But O, bow ardently my soul longed for the transcend- 
ent glories of that vast temple, its unearthly music, its 
enrapturing revelations ! 

Presently, I turned in another direction ; and there, 
before me, planted firmly in the earth, stood a tall pole, 
like the mast of a ship, but not quite so large, — smooth, 
glassy, and pointing towards the heavens, at an angle 
of about forty-five degrees. Something whispered to 
me, that if I could ascend that pole, from its pinnacle 
I could plant my feet on the beautiful mountain.” 
“ But,” said I, “ it is too smooth, — I never can succeed ; 
and then, it points not towards the mountain.” A 
whisper was heard again; ‘‘Try, — there is only an 
illusion ; when you get to the top, you will perceive 
that all is well.” I made the attempt. I ascended 
rapidly, and with great facility. I had never thought 
it possible, that I could perform such a feat. As I went 
gayly up, I revolved the thought in my mind. I re- 
flected how I had often admired the facility with 
which seamen mounted the ropes and masts, — and was 
it possible that I had grown so expert ? Away I went, 
up, up, from the earth. 

Suddenly my head grew dizzy, I cast my eyes to- 
wards the earth ; and oh, horrors ! I hung suspended 
high above a vast abyss, profound, dark, still as the 
shades of death. The solid earth had fled. And there 
I hmig, upon that smooth, glassy pole, over eternity ! 
Oh, the terror, the agony, of that moment ! Never 
shall it vanish from my memory. Whither had I 
gone, — whither in that fathomless profound, should I be 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


85 


cast ? Should I ever again hehold the regions of light, 
or mingle with kindred spirits? I essayed to cry 
aloud ; but speech was denied me. Nor was there an 
ear to hear ; for, could I have spoken, it would only 
have been to “ the blackness of darkness,” and my cry 
would have reverberated forever throughout that 
fathomless abyss. 

My limbs quivered, my head swam with the deliri- 
um of that awful moment, — my hold relaxed ; I must 
launch out on that dark, illimitable ocean ! “ O Father 

of mercies and God of all comfort !” I cried, “ have 
mercy on me ! Saviour of the world, save me !” In a 
moment, consciousness is gone, — all is over 1 Oh ! field 
of darkness ! world without light and without bounds, 
whither shall I fiy, whither be cast ? In a moment, 
that dread ordeal is past, — how^ I know not. But 
lo! I stand again on the solid earth, and there, be- 
fore me, is that dreaded, awful pole. Again, the same 
voice whispers : ‘‘Try again, it requires courage. You 
can ascend.” “ No, never, never !” I exclaimed, with 
faltering tongue and shuddering heart. “ Never shall 
I agaiii pass that lifetime of agony. My soul stands in 
awe of that terror.” The voice ceased. I turned away. 

Once more I stood at the base of the beautiful moun- 
tain ; — once more I essayed to make its ascent. Now I 
am some rods up. I look aloft, the way seems easy ; the 
same glorious light plays over the whole mountain, the 
same heavenly strains fioat around me ; yet, with all my 
agonizing struggles, I make but little progress. I pant, 
and grow weary, and pause, almost in despair; but 
still longing for the glories above, that beckon me on, 
as so many “ signals hung out from on high.” And 


86 THE BLEMMEKTONS; OR, 

tlieii I hear another voicej — O, how sweet, how gentle, 
how heavenly ! — ‘‘ Faith, Faith !” it said. That word 
yet rings in my ears, and thrills my heart. “ Why toil 
on here so slowly, now ascending, now receding? Faith, 
faith will lift thee to that glorious tower. ‘ Stand, there- 
fore, having your loins girt about with truth, and having 
on the breastplate of righteousness ; and your feet shod 
with the preparation of the Gospel of peace ; above all, 
taking the shield of Faith,’ Eph. vi. 14, etc., so shalt 
thou climb that towering mountain ; and there are an- 
gels going up and down from the throne of God, to 
guide and guard thee. Go on, struggling mortal. Faith 
will bear thee upwards.” And on I went, new beauties 
at every step opening upon my enravished eyes, — “ my 
soul breaking out for the very fervent desire that it had” 
to the delights of that glorious temple towards which I 

was pressing I awoke. The vision 

was gone !* 

But there was left to me the treasure of a heavenly 
lesson. The first voice was that of the Tempter, who 
promises liberally, but deceives unto eternal death. 
For that smooth, glassy pole, which appears to me now 
so singular, I could never find a fitting analogy, unless 
its smoothness, and the ease with which I ascended it, 
and the great difiiculty of clinging to it when once I 
grew dizzy, typified the way of sin, which leads to the 
abodes of woe, and the slender tenure on eternal life 
that they have, whose feet stand not fast on the beauti- 
ful mountain, and are not ‘‘ shod with the prepara- 
tion of the Gospel of peace.” But ah ! that dread 

^ This is no further imagination, than an actual dream is imagina- 
tion. 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


8T 


abyss, — there is no mistaking that, — it was that world 
of darkness, where the light of God’s countenance 
cometh not. 

The beautiful mountain, I think, was the Church mili- 
tant ; and it, and the temple which crowned it above, 
typified the Church militant and triumphant, — the 
Christian’s pathway to eternal glory, and the beatific 
visions and glories of that house not made with hands, 
eternal in the heavens. O my soul, shout for joy, 
break forth into singing, that thou art redeemed, — that 
thy feet stand upon that glorious mountain, “ which fill- 
eth the earth,” and- reacheth even unto that living 
Temple, where the “ Efing” eternal reigns in His beau- 
ty,” and the angels harp their heavenly notes, and re- 
deemed men shall make glad the city of our God. 

Faith lifts my soul to God. Faith assures me, that I 
may climb that beautiful mountain, and at last behold 
that glorious Temple, enter its courts, and dwell forever 
in the presence and joy of Him who is the light and 
glory thereof. Faith assures me, that there, in that 
land of blessedness, purity, and love, I shall join 
the loved and the lost, where naught will enter to 
blight the felicity that shall be sanctified, heavenly, 
beatific. 

Ah ! loved one, I see thee now, as I saw thee in thy 
flush of life and prime of beauty ! “ The Lord gave, 

and the Lord hath taken away ; blessed be the name 
of the Lord.” 

So the manuscript ended. I almost regretted read- 
ing the concluding sentence, for I thought that the au- 
thor was perhaps unconscious of its being there, and 


88 THEBLEMMEKTONS;OK, 

had unwittingly revealed to me a heart-secret of his 
younger days, into which I would upon no account have 
irreverently gazed. ‘‘ The heart knoweth his own bit- 
terness ; and a stranger doth not intermeddle with his 
joy.” — Prov. xiv. 10. I returned to him the manu- 
script, without comment or question. 

“ Jonathan,” said he, “ it is a true picture. I penned 
it the next morning. Put oh ! words are inadequate 
to describe what I passed through, either of the agonies 
or of the joys of that dream. Would that I could find 
language in w^hich to depict the contrasts in my feel- 
ings, as I hung suspended over that awful eternity ; and 
then, in the next moment, as I listened to those enrap- 
turing strains, lived in the heavenly, light, and joyfully 
mounted up on high to that beautiful temple ! But, let 
it pass. Without doubt, — I say it of Hope, I say it of 
Faith alone, after the manner of him who once ex- 
claimed : ‘ For I am persuaded that neither death, nor 
life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things 
present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor 
any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the 
love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.’ Eom. 
viii. 38, etc. Without doubt, after I shall have passed 
through the valley of the shadow of death, leaning on 
the ‘ staif,’ and protected by the ‘ rod’ of Immanuel, I 
shall stand upon the beautiful mountain beyond, behold 
that glorious vision in reality, — ‘ see the King in His 
beauty,’ in ‘ the land that is very far otf,’ and be forever 
‘ satisfied, when I awake with His likeness,’ in His 
presence and glory.” 

Mr. Lovegood was now in his fortieth year ; and, 
though of a very sprightly, elastic disposition, fond of 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


89 


young company, and all that constitutes the charm of 
social intercourse, — ^its amenities, suavities, and innocent 
jocoseness, — yet was there, at times, a touch of melan- 
choly pervading his carriage and manners. But this 
was like the last softening touch of the artist to the 
painting, — it embalmed, as it were, his whole character, 
and rendered him altogether lovely and attractive. 
He boards with a cherished parishioner in Heartful- 
ville ; but, in a quiet part of the village he has his 
sanctum, a lovely, poetic, sanctified home, where at 
almost all hours of the day you may find him engaged, 
either in reading or writing. If he is out on parochial 
duty, you will find a slate hanging at his door, telling 
you where he may be found, if your business is urgent, 
or when he will be at the study. If you tarry, you 
will be sure to see him at the appointed hour, walking, 
cane in hand, slowly down the street. If he sees you 
waiting in the distance, he takes out his watch, inspects 
it, and, if the hour has arrived, quickens his pace; 
if not, he pursues the even tenor of his way, — seem- 
ing to say, “ There is no hurry ; I am as good as my 
word.” 

You would like to take a view of that enchanting 
spot, — his study. Wefil walk round. This way, if you 
please. He is not in the study now. I know his duties 
and his habits. He has gone upon the hill yonder, to 
see old blind Judy, a free colored woman, who is one 
of his alms-pensionera. This is his day to visit her, and 
contribute of his alms to her necessities. With old 
Judy he spends an hom\ It is, he says, one of his most 
delightful and sanctified duties : during thaf hour, they 
talk about the olden time, when her good old master 


90 THE B L E M M E R T O N S ; OR, 

was alive, and liow he stood sponsor for all her children 
and grandchildren ; they extol his virtues, and together 
mingle their tears to his memory, — the seeing and the 
sightless ! From this, their conversation would neces- 
sarily run out upon religion and the Church, two things 
inseparable in their estimation ; and the day when “ the 
silver cord” would “ be loosed,” and they would “ go 
to their long home,” and the “ mourners go about the 
streets ;” and that last great day, when “ living saints 
and dead” shall stand in the “ circle of the redeemed,” 
before the Son of Man. Happy pastor ! Happy old 
woman ! Thou shalt receive thy crown, and the blessed 
commendation, ‘‘Well done, good and faithful servant, 
enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.” And thou, sight- 
less, shalt yet see with thine eyes the glory of God, 
and shalt dwell in his presence ! 

It is a pleasant, balmy day in summer. The full- 
leaved elms, which adorn the streets of the village, 
protect us from the rays of the sun, and impart a re- 
freshing coolness to the atmosphere. There, tread 
lightly now, if you please, for, somehow, I feel, when I 
approach this place, as though I stood on holy ground. 
Every thing here is sanctified, — the trees, the birds, the 
flowers, all are holy. We pause at the wicker-gate, 
which opens on the gravel pathway that leads to the 
door of the sanctum, — that, in its meek beauty, retires 
some rods from the street, and stands in the centre of a 
plot about fifty yards square, which is inclosed by a 
plain, neat plank fence, recently whitewashed, and 
which looks as pure as the driven snow. 

A row of forest elms and maples, each standing as a 
sentinel in its place, closes the external view. A 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


91 


monthly rose, clustering over and around the door, ex- 
tends its branches on both sides, along the wall, which 
fall in varying festoons to the ground. Embowered in 
the branches of this rose, you will discover several 
little houses, the work of Mr. L.’s hands, for the wrens ; 
and you will see the parent birds, darting about, chat- 
tering away, full of glee, as they fulfil the pleasant 
duty of feeding their young. And the little humming- 
birds will be playing at hide-and-seek with the honey- 
suckles. They’ll dart up, take a kiss here and there, 
and in a moment they are off, — away, away, — hum, 
hum, — ^buzz, buzz, — they are gone, to dip their bills into 
the cup of some other flower, and suck its ambrosia. 

A row, on either side, of neatly-trimmed box, binds 
the gravel walk, while, right and left, over the whole 
plot, — a smoothly mown lawn,' — -roses of a hundred 
choice varieties, as if of Nature’s planting, are inter- 
spersed ; — and the sweet jessamine, the gorgeous dahlia, 
the rich piony, the honeysuckle, 

“ Flowers worthy of Paradise,” 

reveal their budding and blooming beauties, regale the 
air with their fragrance, and lift up the heart to God. 

From the top of yonder elm, a mocking-bird, as free 
as the air he breathes, trills his notes, — now plaintive, 
now sharp, now a bass, now a tenor, — imitating the 
feathered tribe, amusing himself over their foibles or 
their beauties, in the singing art, in sharps and flats, or 
quavers and semiquavers. A funny little fellow is he. 
He is a confirmed mocker, — mocks every thing, and 
makes himself jolly wdth his sport. Sing on, beautiful 
bird ! There are no cages here. Mr. Lovegood abom- 
inates cages. 


92 THE BLEMMEETONS;OR, 

The birds seem to be aware of this ; therefore they 
pay him tribute from the trees and branches, warbling 
out their Maker’s praise. And this is Mr. Lovegood’s 
sanctum. But you cannot enter now. There hangs the 
slate, — five o’clock, it says. We have yet fifteen min- 
utes. We saunter about, enjoy a pleasant, re very, 
pluck a rose-hud, — it’s almost a sacrilege, for it is one 
of the richest Luxemburgs, — listen to the song of the 
mocking and the warble of the little wrens. 

I^ature teaches the Gospel of glad tidings of good 
things, and oh, how all things here tell of harmony, 
peace, and love ! Here may the soul hold sweet com- 
munion with its Creator and Bedeemer, and mount on 
the wings of faith to those bright regions, where are 
forever heard the harpings of heavenly minstrels. Eden, 
the blessed abode of our first parents ere they sinned, 
was a garden, and all such spots seem to be types of in- 
nocence and beauty. The thorn and the thistle sprang 
up, indeed, after the fall ; but still the Lord permitted 
the fiowers to remain and bloom, types, as it were, of 
Eden regained, and its perennial joys. Eden was a 
garden interspersed with the choicest flowers and shrub- 
bery, that made glad the heart ; and there, methinks, 

“ From rise of morn till set of sun,” 

the sweetest of the feathered songsters poured forth 
their notes of praise to their Creator. 

“ Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose,” 

there bloomed, and 

“ The birds their choir apply : airs, vernal airs. 

Breathing the smell of field and grove, attune 
The trembling leaves.” 


Milton. 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


93 


It is five o’clock. Here comes Mr. Lovegood. A 
cordial shake of the hand, a soul-stirring “ God bless 
you,” which thrills through your heart, makes you feel 
at home. The key turns in the door, you enter ; it is 
the study of a bachelor ; not over-neat ; for there is 
some confusion of books and papers about the desk, — 
but this Mr. Lovegood, somehow, cannot avoid ; it 
seems to be natural to him, — about such matters, he 
is not a “ pink of perfection.” But he understands 
every thing, just as it is. Were you to remove or alter 
the position of a book or paper, it would disarrange all 
his plans, perhaps all his thoughts ; for they are wrap- 
ped up in those scattered leaves of manuscript, just as 
they lie. You need not be uneasy, his sermon will 
come out all right ; and in time, on Sunday morning ; 
and you will learn something from it. 

His library is well stored with works on theology, 
history, law, medicine, science, the classics, and choice 
literature : indeed, there is something on every subject 
of general utility to man. The books are carefully as- 
sorted, numbered, and placed in order on the shelves 
round the room. The fioor is covered with matting, — 
there are half a dozen cane-bottom chairs, scattered 
promiscuously about the room ; two old-tashioned, wal- 
nut arm-chairs, ^ith time-worn cushions ; a coat and 
hat rack, cane and umbrella stand, keep guard at the 
door. A study-gown of oil-chintz hangs from a rack 
on the wall ; and, here and there, all round the room, 
are hung some choice old paintings, and portraits of de- 
ceased Bishops, and other cherished clergymen. A 
pair of boots and slippers lie on the window-sill ; an old 
lounge or sofa completes the list of internal arrange* 


94 THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 

ments. The windows are hoisted, the pure, fresh air 
streams in through the slat blinds, bearing on its wing 
the balm of sward and flower. And here Mr. Love- 
good reads, thinks, meditates, writes, laughs, sings, 
prays, and gives thanks. 

“ Lord, how can man preach Thy eternal word ? 

He is a brittle, crazy glass : 

Yet in Thy temple Thou dost him afford 
This glorious and transcendent place 
To he a window, through Tliy grace. 

“ But when Thou dost anneal in glass Thy story, 

Making Thy life to shine within 
The holy preacher’s ; then the light and glory 
More rev’ rend grows, and more doth win 
Which else shows wat’rish, bleak, and thin. 

“Doctrine and life, colors and light, in one, 

When they combine and mingle, bring 
A strong regard and awe : but speech alone 
Doth vanish like a flaring thing ; 

And in the ear, not conscience, sing.” 

“ The country parson is generally sad, because he 
knows nothing but the cross of Christ ; his mind being 
fixed on it with those hails wherewith his Master was. 
Or, if he have any leism’e to look off from thence, he 
meets continually with two most sad spectacles, — sin 
and misery ; God dishonored every day, and man af- 
• flicted. Nevertheless, he sometimes refresheth himself, 
as knowing that nature will not bear everlasting droop- 
ings, and that pleasantness of disposition is a great key 
to do good : not^only because all men shun the compa- 
ny of perpetual severity ; but also that, when they are 
in company, instructions seasoned with pleasantness both 
enter sooner and root deeper, wherefore he condescends 
to human frailties, both in himself and others ; and in- 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


95 


termingles some mirth in his discourses occasionally, 
according to the pulse of the hearer.” 

So sung and wrote sweet George Herbert, whose 
memory lives, and is cherished in all hearts that have 
learned his name and his virtues. Beautiful in life, 
beautiful in death, how fragrant is thy memory ! 

“ All must to their cold graves : 

But the religious actions of the just 

Smell sweet in death, and blossom in the dust.” 

Walton’s Life of Herbert, 


THE BLEMMEETONS; OE, 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A CUET LETTEE *, A FOX-HimT ; FOXISH PEOPLE ; AS 
CTESTNING AS A FOX. 

We are scarcely seated in Mr. Lovegood’s study, 
when a little colored boy comes up the gravel walk. 
He pauses at the door, standing, hat in hand, on one 
side, and leering in round the casement of the door. 

“ Come in, Jim.” 

Jim was the grandchild of old Aunt Judy, was a sort 
of pet with Mr. Lovegood, and now filled to him the 
important and dignified post of “ right-hand-man 
blackened his boots, brought him water, and watched 
the mails. This last office Jim especially delighted in. 
It had a biggish look about it; and it was really 
amusing to see him swagger about the door of the post- 
office, arms a-kimbo, and putting on all the airs that so 
dignified a position required and warranted ! 

“ Come in, Jim. What news have you to-day ?” 

Jim came up smiling, and handed him a letter. It 
proved to be the aforesaid epistle of Mr. Blemmerton. 
“John Blemmerton!” ejaculated he, — “John Blem- 
merton! — St. ’s Church, . Well, that is soon 

answered.” So, turning to his desk, he wrote the fol- 
lowing reply : 

“ Heaetfulville, Nw. — , 18 — . 

“ My dear Sir : — I have to acknowledge the receipt 
of your kind favor.' Entertaining the views, on the 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


97 


subject-matter of your letter, that I do, and which an 
experience of eighteen, years has confirmed me in, I 
beg, most respectfully, to decline a compliance with 
your request. 

“ Yours very faithfully, etc. 

“ John Blemmerton, Esq.” 

“ TheTe, Jim, you are a smart boy, — negatively smart, 
that is ; nm with that letter to the office, mail it, and 
then go home to Grandmamma Judy. I shall not want 
you again to-night.” And away went Jim, whistling, 
down the gravel walk. 

Mr. Blemmerton will soon know that, whether ho 
understands human nature better than Mr. Heartful or 
not, Mr. Lovegood will not gratify him with a display 
of his powers in a trial sermon. 

Mr. Lovegood calls after Jim, as he passes out at the 
gate : — “ Mind, Jim, that the horns and the hounds do 
not keep you away so late again in the morning!” 
And then turning to us, he explains that there was a 
fox-hunt yesterday morning, in which some gentlemen 
of the village took part ; and, as they rode out in the 
morning, Jim followed them so far down the road, that 
he did not get back until late in the day. Our friend 
from the city is very much interested, — his curiosity is 
at once excited. “ Do tell me something about a fox- 
hunt.” 

“ Well, when I was a boy, like all other boys, I was 
fond of fun. But I was not given to cruelty. And yet 
I was exceedingly fond of the fox-chase, which would 
indeed have been cruel, had there not been an induce- 
ment, more rational and proper than the mere pleasur- 
6 


98 


THE BLEMMERTONS; OK, 


able excitement attending it. We must reflect, then, 
that foxes are very destructive to poultry and young 
stock; especially are they prone to prowl about at 
night, stealing and killing lambs and pigs. In my 
father’s neighborhood, they had a custom of hunting 
the fox ; and this, not simply for sport, — and yet I must 
acknowledge, that to us boys it was a great treat in 
that line, — but to rid the neighborhood of a dangerous 
foe. The moment a lamb or pig was stolen, the alarm 
was given to all the neighboring gentry. A fox is 
about ; and there must be no rest till he is ferreted out. 
A party is arranged ; and,, early on the following 
morning, while the dew scents the air, or the frost 
glitters in the rays of the rising sun, you hear the blast 
of the huntsman’s horn, — the hounds howl and bark. 
And here we go, each from his home, mounted on a 
swift steed, eager for the chase, — for he understands 
what is going on, as well as the rider or the dogs, and 
takes as much delight in it. The hounds run helter- 
skelter to the horn, and the riders follow on. 

“ When all have arrived at the place of rendezvous, 
by appointment, the hounds, a full pack, and well 
trained, are sent out into the thickets and forests. They 
scatter about, hither and thither, scenting the air, — 
and so away we go, scouring through the forests, 
mounting fences, leaping ditches, in full glee, encour- 
aging the hounds ! — Presently, away off in the distance, 
you hear an opening note. ‘ Hark — hark !’ — says the 
huntsman ; and riders and hounds all dash off in the 
direction of that opening note. ‘ Blixen has struck the 
scent, — has roused old Beynard from his den, or hiding- 
place. All the hounds gather around ; and each, as 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 99 

he catches the scent, gives out his answering note. 
Old ‘ Blazer’ is the leader. Hurra for Blazer ! Go on, 
Blazer ! ‘ Bow-ow !’ he says ; and, with his head set 

out, away he dashes. The pack fall in behind in a 
row ; and then commences the music. Ever and anon 
you hear old ‘ Blazer’s’ bow-ow, — he drawls it out, and 
it rings over the hills, far away, — and then they are in 
full chase and full cry, high notes and low, tenor and 
bass. All seem to fall into time ; and the welkin rings 
with hound- music ! And so away they dash. The 
steeds prick their ears ; and away we press, — now 
whooping, — now cheering. The riders, perchance, 
separate and scatter, here and there, to get the best 
opportunity to. witness the chase, or rise to thwart old 
Keynard in his wily tricks. 

‘‘We will spur up to the top of yonder hill ; there 
we shall have a view, for miles around. Hark ! see ! 
there goes Beynard, stretching across yon open field. 
‘ Bow-ow !’ says old Blazer, some mile or two behind, 
but coming on the track ; and he is answered by the 
full packy — ‘ Bow-ow, Bow-ow !’■ — and the notes run up 
and down, and zig-zag, but all seeming to fall into the 
right key and the right time. You have heard the 
saying, ‘ As cunning as a fox ?’ It is one of our pro- 
verbialisms. How watch ! Keynard deliberately squats 
on his haunches, — pricks up his ears, — turns his head, — 
looks back, — ^listens attentively. You had supposed 
that he was about to clear the open field, for the next 
forest. Hot so. He turns short on his heel, makes 
a right angle, and comes back to the same forest ! 

“ How you say, ‘ Call Blazer, and put him right after 
him.’ Ho, no ; Blazer knows what to do, better than 


100 THE BLEMMEKTONS; OE, 

you. Watch on. Here he comes, dashing on over 
the field. ‘ Bow-ow another and another behind him 
answer, ‘ Bow-ow.’ Eeynard is now out of sight, and 
down far into the next valley. Blazer dashes on. ‘ Ah !’ 
you exclaim, ‘ he has passed the point where Eeynard 
paused and turned ! Hever mind ; watch Blazer ; his 
head is erect, snuflSng the air. He has lost the trail. 
Here is a trouble. Eeynard is going for his life, we 
know not whither. 

“ Blazer whirls about, takes a compass, runs a circle, 
and presently ‘ Bow-ow,’ he says ; away he goes, and 
there is a fresh outcry from the whole pack. 

“ ‘ How,’ you say, ‘ dash on, follow on ; let’s keep 
up with them !’ Ho, we will remain here, and see 
more of the chase. ‘ But Eeynard,’ you say, ‘ has made 
a clean track. He will not come this way again.’ 
We will wait. The ‘Bow-ow, dies off, away in the dis- 
tance. ‘They are miles off,’ you say. Yery well, we 
shall see the chase. Presently you hear a fresh outcry. 
Eeynard has been at his old trick of doubling again. 
Be patient, — listen ! There is a rustling, as .of a light 
foot in the leaves, away above you. There he goes ; 
and he dashes right on, to the same track that he passed 
over at first. But, instead of running in the same di- 
rection, he dashes on in the opposite, and runs back 
on his old track. Again he is out of sight. You 
grow very impatient. But here come the pack. You 
hear them ring out, ever and anon, away down the 
forest. The notes are nearer and nearer. 

“ Tliey dash out of the forest, on Eeynard’s track. 
Dash on, — dash on ! Hold, there is a break ! Which 
way now? ‘Can’t you direct them?’ — Ho; go on. 


DOT TINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


101 


Blazer. Hark ! — Dash on, — heigh-ho ! xind away 
Blazer goes on the back-track, and Blixen in the former 
direction, each followed by a posse. Watch on, they’ll 
soon lej-. yon know (if yon do not already) which way 
Beynard has gone. They are both silent, both intent 
on their task, giving ont an occasional half note. Pres- 
ently yon hear the exultant announcement from Blazer, 
— ‘ Bow-ow 1 bow-ow !’ He is satisfied that he has it. 
Beynard is at a trick again. Blixen, with his posse, 
huriies back ; and they bring np the rear, and away 
they go again. And Beynard dodges and quibbles in 
this way, sometimes a whole day before he is taken. 
Sometimes, he eludes all attempts, and escapes; some- 
times, instead of forming an angle, he will run round a 
hill in a circle, and run back on his old track. Some- 
times, he will mount a fence, scramble along it a while, 
and then spring off as far as he can. Sometimes, he 
will run into a den, immediately run out, retrace his 
steps a little way, and then bolt ofif in another direction. 
Any manoeuvre to gain time, and puzzle the hounds. 
But, an expert, well-trained leader in a pack, under- 
stands Beynard’s cunning, and soon ferrets out his 
movements. 

“ ‘ As cunning as a fox,’ is a very expressive saying. 
As used among us, it has the signification of low cun- 
ning^ trichiness^ under hcmd dealing ; and is generally 
used in a bad sense. And you see its prototype in the 
quibblings, pietences, and wiles of Beynard, whose 
eveiy effort is to take an advantage. But, in his case, 
we opine that this is not dishonorable, nor to his dis- 
credit, — but a stroke of sound wisdom and good policy. 
Indeed, I highly applaud him as a wise master ; for he 


102 THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 

is managing and mancenvnng for liis life. But it is 
widely different in its application to men, who are said 
to be ‘ as cunning as a fox for, in that case, it bears 
the sense of secret, crafty cunningness and shrewdness, 
by which a dishonorable, unlawful advantage is taken 
of another.” 

“ Hence,” continued Mr. Lovegood, “ we learn a les- 
son, from all this, simple, childlike as it may appear. 
From the simplest things in nature, the commonplaces 
of life, the wild beasts of the forest, may man learn 
wisdom. Our Lord in His teachings turned all these 
to account. He commanded His Apostles to be ‘ wise 
as sei’pents, and harmless as doves,’ Matt. x. 16 ; where- 
in He sets forth the serpent as an emblem of prudence, 
and the dove of harmlessness. The Apostles were sent 
forth ‘ as sheep in the midst of wolves,’ in an employ- 
ment full of peril. They were, therefore, cautioned to 
be as wary as the serpent, in preserving themselves 
from danger ; and as harmless as the dove, in giving 
offence. 

“ ‘ How, if the simplicity of doves,’ says St. Augus- 
tine, ‘be enjoined on us, what hath the wisdom of the 
serpent to do in the simplicity of the dove? Tliis in 
the dove I love, that she has no gall ; this I fear in the 
serpent, that he has poison. But now do not fear the 
serpent altogether. ’ Something he has for thee to hate, 
and something for thee to imitate ; for, when the ser- 
pent is weighed down with age, and he feels the burden 
of his many years, he contracts and forces himself into 
a hole, and lays aside his old coat of skin, that he may 
spring forth into new life. 

“ ‘ Imitate him in this, thou Christian, who dost hear 


DOT TINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 103 

Christ saying : Enter ye in at the strait gate. And 
the Apostle Paul saith to thee : Put ye off the old man.^ 
with his deeds., and jyut ye on the new man. Thou 

hast, then, something to imitate in the serpent 

Imitate him in this again : Kee^ thy head safe. Keep 
Christ with thee. Have not some of you, it may be, 
observed, on occasions when you have wished to kill an 
adder, that, to save his head, he will expose his whole 
body to the strokes of his assailant ? He would not, 
that that part of him should be struck where he knows 
that his life resides. And our life is Christ ; for, he 
hath Himself said, I am the Way., the Truth., and the 
Life. Hear the Apostle also : The Head of the man 
is Christ. Whoso, then, keepeth Christ in him, keep- 
eth his head for his protection. 

“ ‘ How, what need is there to commend to you, in 
many words, the simplicity of the dove ? The serpent’s 
poison must be guarded against : then, there was a danger 
in imitation ; then, there was something to be feared ; 
but the dove you may imitate securely. Mark how the 
doves rejoice in society. Everywhere do they fly and 
feed together ; they do not like to be alone. They de- 
light in communion ; they preserve affection ; their 
cooings are the plaintive cries of love. Yea, even when 
doves, as we have often noticed, dispute about their holes, 
it is as it were but a peaceful strife. Do they separate, 
because of their contentions? Hay, still do they fly 
and feed together ; and their very strife is peaceful. 
See this strife of doves, in what the Apostle saith, 
2 Thess. iii. 14, — Jf a/ny man obey not our word by 
this Egnstle^ ma/vh that man., and home no comypany 
with him. Behold the strife ! but observe, now, how 


104 THE BLEMMEETONS; OR, 

it is the strife of doves, not of wolves. He subjoined 
immediately. Yet count 'Tiim> not as an enemy ^ hut ad- 
monish him as a hrothev. The dove loves, even when 
she is in strife ; and the wolf, even when he caresses, 
hates ; therefore, having the simplicity of doves, and 
the wisdom of serpents, sing lauds to God. He it 
is who will crown us.’* So beautifully writes St. Au- 
gustine. 

“ And the fox our Lord has set forth, as an emblem of 
treachery and double-dealing. ‘ Go and tell that fox, 
(Herod,) Behold, I cast out devils, and I do cures to- 
day and to-morrow, and the third day I shall be per- 
fected,’ Luke xiii. 32. To impose this ignominious, but 
appropriate name on Herod, is not contrary to the com- 
mand, ‘ not to speak evil of the ruler of thy people it 
being the office of the prophet, not to spare kings, 
when they reprove their offences, Jer. i. 10. Our Lord, 
therefore, here uses his prophetical power, in giving 
this tjTant a name suitable to his actions.f And' you 
have only to ponder the history of the man,:!; as you 
will find it portrayed by Josephus and Tacitus, to dis- 
cover the aptness of the title appropriated to him by 
our Lord. 

“ He was ‘ a cruel and despotic man,’ full of all sub- 
tlety and guile ; one ‘ who had waded through blood to the 
seat of power’ that he filled. And I know of no point 
from which to view his character, and continue my 
moral, so appropriate as that afforded by Scripture, 


St. Augustine, Horn. 14. f Whitby. 

J I have blended the character of two Herods into one ; for, there 
is no great difference between them. He of St. Matthew, ii. 3, is 
Herod the Great ; while he of St. Luke, xiii. 32, is Herod Antipas. 


D0TTINQ8 BY THE WAYSIDE. 


105 


wlien the wise men brought to Jerusalem the news of 
the Saviour’s birth. ‘ When Herod the'king had heard 
these things, he was troubled.’ Matt. ii. 3. The fox 
feared, for his safety, and began to cast about for 
means to avoid a catastrophe! Did he quake and 
tremble at the thought, that his sins- would find him 
out ? Ah, no : he was filled with terror ; not that he 
had sinned ; not that his conscience, black and guilty 
as it was, had smitten him with grief and shame ; not 
that he feared the terrors of a judgment to come ; hut 
he t^emhled and was filled with trouhle because a 
KING was horn. He looked to his crown ; for this he 
feared. ‘ Where is he that is born King of the Jews V 
rang in his eai-s, as the death-knell of his departing 
power. He felt already (or fancied that he did) his 
throne tottering under him. Fear seized upon his cow- 
ard heart ; he felt as though there was no time to be 
lost, and that at all hazards he must maintain his seat of 
honor and power. And now behold how sin hegets sin. 
Like Pharaoh, he was wholly given up to his base lusts 
and passions. He had reached the height of power, 
through intrigue and blood ; and, by the same means, 
he determined to maintain it. 

‘‘ And now craft, subtlety, and deceit are brought into ' 
full exercise, to enable him to accomplish his unholy pur- 
poses. He cares only for himself; he has certain aims and 
ends to accomplish. His own base heart urged him on 
to baser deeds ; and the blood of the Holy Innocents 
flows, to fill the measure of his iniquity ! His ruling 
sin was a lust of power. That passion chafed and goad- 
ed his heart, until it produced a brood of sins of an- 
other character. Flattery, deception, and cmelty, had 
6 « 


106 THE BLEMMEETONS; OK, 

marked his steps ; and woe and misery followed in his 
wake, l^ow we find him filled with false apprehen- 
sions, and groundless fears. Out of these grew bitter 
jealousies and animosities. He had, in short, become a 
prey to the basest and most tormenting passions. The 
bare mention, that a ‘ king is born’ filled him with ire ; 
and, without pausing to inquire into the nature of the 
Kingdom that Christ would establish, he ‘ was troubled,’ 
lest he should be forced to surrender his usurped pow^'er to 
other hands. And this led to a still baser jealousy of, 
and animosity against, the unknown child whom the 
wise men sought, and urged him on to the effort 
that he made to destroy ‘The Babe of Bethlehem.’ 
Little knew he of the kingdom that the Messiah 
would establish. Had he paused awhile, he might 
have learned, that his fears were groundless, and have 
been kept from that great crime which filled all Beth- 
lehem and the region round with lamentation.* 

“ Herod, doubtless, had laid some secret plot for our 
Lord’s destruction. Hence the warning of some of the 
Pharisees, ‘ Get thee out, and depart hence, for Herod 
will kill thee.’ They knew his disposition ; that, like 
the cunning fox, he was full of stealth and intrigue. 
Hence our Lord appropriates to him the title, ‘ That 
fox.’ 

“ The prophet Ezekiel compares the false, treacher- 
ous prophets of Israel to foxes. ‘ 0 Israel, thy proph- 
ets are like the foxes in the deserts.’ Ezek. xiii. 4. — 
‘ Deceitful workers,’ 2 Cor. xi. 13, as the Apostle styles 


« The author’s article, entitled “ Epiphany,” in the February No. 
of the Evergreen, 1849. 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 107 

such persons, who craftily insinuate false doctrines into 
weak and unstable minds ; and withal hungry and 
ravenous, and such as catch greedily at any appearance 
of advantage. ‘ There is a conspiracy of her prophets 
in the midst thereof, like a roaring lion ravening the 
prey ; they have devoured souls ; they have taken the 
treasure and precious things ; they have made her 
many widows in the midst thereof.’ Ezek. xxii. 25. 
And Solomon, Song ii. 15, has these words : ‘ Take us 
the foxes, the little foxes, that spoil the vines : for our 
vines have tender grapes.’ 

“ And since, as we have seen, the prophet Ezekiel 
compares false prophets to foxes, may it not he that the 
wise man, in his song of loves, in the words just quoted, 
alludes to false teachers in his Spouse the Church ? It 
is so understood by the commentators. False teachers 
appeared very early in the Church, and are therefore 
compared to young foxes^ in regard to their known 
craft and subtlety, windings and turnings, shillings and 
evasions, whereby the more simple sort especially, and 
such as w^ere newly converted, (compared here to ten- 
der grajpes^ as the Church itself is to a mne^ were in dan- 
ger of being undone, unless timely care was taken to 
prevent it. And therefore this verse seems to be an 
answer to the Church’s prayers, flying to her Lord for 
refuge, who, seeing that her danger is not greater from 
tyranny than from false teachers, calls upon the Apos- 
tles, Bishops, and Pastors of the Church, to seek for 
them, and to take them, or expose them, in their 
craftiness. And that, while they were young ^ — before 
they had gained strength and power ; otherwise, their 
‘ vain babblings’ would ‘ increase unto more ungodli- 


108 THE BLEMMEKTONS; OE, 

ness,’ and their words ‘ eat as doth a canker.’ 2 Tim. 
ii. 16, IT. Especially, when the Church was but newly 
planted, and those seducers applied themselves chiefly 
to such as but recently received the Faith ; or to weak 
and unsettled people, who were easily caught by them, 
unless great care were taken to discover their frauds, 
and to confute their sophistry. ’Twas the taking of 
these as Theodoret expounds it, and S. Bernard 
also ; who observes, that he saith, ‘ Take to us the foxes,’ 
i. e. Sibi et Sponsse, — unto Himself and to His Spouse. 
As much as to say. If it be possible, let them be recon- 
ciled to the Holy Church, and brought back to the true 
faith. 

“ If that could not be, then other methods succeeded ; 
and the Apostle delivered up such dangerous deceivers 
um^to Satan^ which was a punishment that included in it 
bodily affliction, that they might learn not to blas- 
pheme. 1 Tim. i., etc.* ‘ All Scripture is given by in- 
spiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for re- 
proof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness ; 
that the man of God may be perfect, thoroughly fur- 
nished unto all good works.’ 2 Tim. iii. 16. ‘And a 
certain scribe came and said unto him. Master, I will 
follow Thee whithersoever Thou goest. And Jesus 
saith unto him. The foxes have holes, and the birds of 
the air have nests ; but the Son of Man hath not where 
to lay his head.’ Matt. viii. 19, 20. He, the Lord and 
Creator, had so humbled Himself for man’s sake, as to 
become poorer than the foxes and the birds of the air ! 
He, who ‘ openeth His hand, and filleth all things liv- 


* Bishop Patrick’s Commentary. 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


109 


ing with plenteousness ; who ‘ feedeth the young ravens 
that cry unto Him,’ had not whereon to lay His head, 
in the' world of His own creation. O wondrous humil- 
ity ! . O transcendent love ! that thus, through poverty, 
shame, and suffering, hath opened to man, lost and 
ruined, the glories of Heaven, and the reconciled 
countenance of his Creator in His eternal dwelling- 
place !” 


no 


THE HLEMMEKTONS; OE 


CHAPTER IX. 

MR. BLEMMERTON DOING A HARD THING. A SURPRISE, THAT 
DOES NOT SET WELL. MR. FRIENDLY. 

A FEW days after the sayings and doings at Mi*s. 
Blemmerton’s party, heretofore recited, and the day be- 
fore that on which the remnant of the household effects 
of the deceased William Wallace were to be sold at 
vendue, to satisfy the rent due to Mr. Blemmerton, oc- 
curred two remarkable episodes in the history of the 
aforesaid Blemmertons ; episodes, apparently trivial in 
themselves, but, in the sequel, of considerable impor- 
tance. 

Seated at his desk in his counting-room, ere yet the 
day’s business was fairly under way, Mr. Blemmerton, 
at the hands of the jienny-ppst, received Mr. Love- 
good’s letter. 

“Now we shall see!” ejaculated he, with a chuckle. 
He broke the seal, — and lo, as the reader is aware, 
there was a curt refusal, and that very curtness was, if 
any thing, its most disagreeable point. He dropped 
the letter, knit his brow, and would have muttered and 
murmured a good many hard things, about preachers 
in general and Mr. Lovegood in particular ; such as, 
they are a set of conceited ^sses, with more brass than 
brains, etc. But, at that moment, be it said for the 
good of the clergy in general, his attention was called 
in another direction ; and your heads were spared, you 


DOT TINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


Ill 


sometimes buffeted and abused, but more frequently 
kindly treated race, that a portion of that ire might fall 
on one who had already borne the rude blast, and shiv- 
ered -beneath its breath, as the ship dismantled in the 
storm, lashed and driven by the waves and winds. 

‘‘ Ah, it’s you, is it?” said he, addressing little Agnes 
W allace, who stood mute and tremulous at the threshold 
of the counting-room. “ And what do you want now ? 
It’s useless to trouble me any more on that subject. 
The rent must be paid. I can’t afford to lose anything 
more, nor can I grant any indulgence. And if you are 
poor, it’s your own fault. Ho one in this flourishing 
country need be poor, if he is industrious and economi- 
cal. Besides, there is an alms-house. You can go to 
that. I am taxed enough for its support, and that’s all 
I am willing to do.” 

“ But,” said Agnes, brushing the tears from her eyes, 
and assured by the confldence which her present mis- 
sion inspired, “ I did not come a-begging. Sir, nor to 
ask any indulgence; I came to pay you your rent.” 
“ Pay me my rent ! I should like to know where you 
got the money, since you are so poor ?” ‘‘ I have the 

money here. Sir, all ready to pay the debt.” “Ah, ha, 
I see. There is some trick. Some one has been made 
to suffer for this. I’ll be after seeing into this affair. 
Come, now, tell me how you raised the money ; for I 
fear it’s not all right, and I won’t be a party to it.” 
“ I have been directed not to do that. Sir.” “ Ah, ha ! 
I see. Did your father tell you that ?” 

“ Ho, Sir,” replied the little girl, bursting into a flood 
of tears, “ my poor father is dead and buried.” “ Dead, 
is he ? Well, well, alackaday, so the world goes. Let 


112 THE BLEMMEETONS; OE, 

me see, what is it ? Yes, ‘ Dust thou art.’ And he is 
dead ! Come, now, my child,” said he in a softer tone, 
— for death has a cold grasp and icy hand, and 
brings a pallor even in the breath of his name, — “ come, 
now, my child, tell me all about this. How did you 
get the money ?” 

It was the fii’st soft word or tone Agnes had ever heard 
in that quarter ; and it well-nigh robbed her of her 
good resolutions not to betray her trust and secret. “ A 
soft answer turneth away wrath much more does a 
soft, gentle word of tenderness, pry open and tear asun- 
der the heart, when it comes from one from whom we 
did not expect it, and from whom we have been accus- 
tomed to hear only words of keen reproach and harsh- 
ness. Forgive that little girl, then, if her childish heart 
melted, and she wavered for a moment between duty 
and the promptings of the inner fountains of her being, 
which had been touched. 

“ A kind gentleman gave it to my poor sick mother, 
the night my dear father died. That is all that I can 
tell you. And here is a paper which he wrote, and told 
me to take it to you and get your signatoe to it, before 
I gave you the money.” This was uttered with child- 
ish simplicity. Agnes did not comprehend the cutting 
rebuke, the terrible reproach conveyed in these words. 
This, even the obdurate Blemmerton did not fail to see ; 
and it was not without its effect. He changed counte- 
nance ; and there, in the presence of an innocent, sim- 
ple-minded little child, he felt cowed, awe-stricken, 
abashed. But it was not that his conscience was stirred 
or smitten. He saw that there was a guiding hand su- 
perior to that little child, which was to him like the 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE, 113 

handwriting on the wall at the impious feast of Bel- 
shazzar. That hand troubled him : it seemed to reveal 
those awful words, “ Mene, mene, tekel upharsin !” 

“ Who was the gentleman ? Did he 'tell you his 
name?” “ He did, Sir. But he told me not to divulge 
it to you.” “ And won’t you tell me, my child ?” 
“ Ho, Sir. I can only say that he was a kind, good 
gentleman, who met me accidentally, and learned of 
me that my poor father was dying, and went home 
with me and took pity on us.” 

Here Mr. Blemmerton read the paper handed to him 
by Agnes. It was a receipt, and read as follows : 

“ , Nov. — , 18 — . 

“ $30. Keceived of Sarah Wallace, relict of Wil- 
liam Wallace, deceased, the sum of thirty dollars, in 
full of all demands for rent due me to this date ; and I 
hereby discontinue the proceedings under which the 
household effects of the aforesaid Wallace were to have 

been sold on the day of , to satisfy the claim 

as aforesaid.” 

“ And I am to sign that paper, am I ?” “ Yes, Sir, 
or sell the furniture that remains to us ; for so the gen- 
tleman directed me to say.” Mr. Blemmerton made a 
tremulous, nervous signature, and received the money ; 
whereupon Agnes handed him the following paper, 
written by the same unknown hand : 

“ Sir : Take notice, that the wife and daughter of 
William Wallace, deceased, will no longer occupy 

that wretched tenement of yours in street. After 

to-morrow, it will be at your disposal. But I pray you 


114 


THE BLEMMERTONS; OR 


to be SO kind as to make it tenaiitable, before you attach 
the furniture of another dying man, whose death, too, 
was caused by devotion to your interests. 

“Tours, One WHO Knows.” 

Agnes took her departure, and Mr. Blemmerton is 
left alone to his reflections ; and, for humanity’s sake, 
we also will leave him alone. He has his money. If 
the knife that cut the pound of flesh reeking with 
blood when it was drawn out, it must rest upon his own 
head. But there is an impenetrable mystery veiling 
the whole transaction, which annoys him. Who could 
the stranger have been ? Did he know him ? He 
would have given the pitiful sum of dollars and cents 
he had just received, to have that mysterious veil lifted. 
Would that transaction come to liglit? Would it face 
him outside of the secret walls of that counting-room ? 
Guess on, Mr. Blemmerton ; time reveals secrets ; and 
time, perchance, will reveal this. 

Once more we pass that rickety, woe-begone old 

house in street. The winds sigh through the 

crevices ; the old stairway by which we ascended at 
the gable, rocks and rattles, as it did on that dark, 
shivering night ; but now it is tenantless. The troubled 
and sorrowing are gone. The winds of heaven no 
longer respond to the sighs of the broken-hearted, the 
wounded, and the bruised. Sweep on, ye winds of 
heaven, ye blessed voices from the courts of God ; ye 
bring but mementoes of a Father’s love. Play on in 
your gleesome frolicking, through the paneless sashes 
and glaring cracks ; shake the old tenement in your 
mirth or sadness ; ye no longer disturb the living nor 


DOTTINGS by THE WAYSIDE. 


115 


the dead. The dead sleeps with his fathers ; the mourner 
has gone home ; that history is written in the records 
on high ! 

“ But the living,” you say, “ where are they ?” Go 
with me, and I will show you. We must take an om- 
nibus, for our destination is in the northern part of the 
city. Away we rattle up a great broad street, which 
is all whirl and commotion. We roll along now slowly, 
now we spur up ; presently we pause to pick up a pas- 
senger, now to let one out. There, now pull np. We 
get out here. IN'ow this way. I^^ow we go down this 
street ; we shall soon be there. W e enter a neat, and a 
very cleanly street ; and here before ns is a block of tidy 
buildings, small but comfortable. These dwellings 
have an humble look, in contrast with many of the im- 
posing buildings in the neighborhood ; but still there 
is an air of snugness and tidiness about them, cheering 
to behold, after leaving that barren, desolate, cheerless- 
looking tenement which we have just noted. 

This block of buildings has been erected by Mr. 
Friendly, for the accommodation of the mechanics in 
his employ, and those whose means are limited, but to 
whom comfort and convenience are as necessary and 
welcome as they are to the affluent. Mr. Friendly 
is a true philanthropist ; one of your considerate, good- 
hearted men, who, in the investment of his money, has 
more at heart than the mere per centage. He consid- 
ers, that, while he is building and renting houses, it 
is his duty to consult the well-being of his tenants ; 
and it is his delight and pleasure to do so. Therefore, 
in all his houses you will find due and scrupulous regard 
paid to convenience. And he builds such tenements, 


116 THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 

for the accommodation of the hands in his employ, and 
others who may seek them, not valuing the trifling ad- 
ditional costs, nor increasing the rent on that account. 

Year by year is he investing in this way his surplus 
funds, thus ameliorating the condition of the laboring 
man, contributing to his health and happiness, and 
afibrding him a pleasant and convenient home, at 
moderate rates. And many are the blessings that are 
invoked on his head. Go on, Mr. Friendly, in your 
quiet, unpretending way. The Lord beholds and marks. 
You are doing more for the real benefit of your race, 
than many who make more noise in the world about 
their love of the dear people. 

Here, walk in. It is, indeed, the abode of poverty, 
but not of wretchedness. A kind hand has added a 
plain carpet, and some other articles of comfort, to the 
meager stock of Mrs. Wallace’s furniture. Every thing 
about the room is clean and tidy. The stove is bright ; 
and the cheerful fire imparts a home-feeling to the in- 
mates. An old walnut table stands against the wall 
on one side, over which hangs a small, poor man’s 
mirror, which has seen better days; and a few old 
chairs, scattered here and there in order. And a cup- 
board, half open, reveals a small lot of plain, old- 
fashioned china. These make complete the humble 
apartment into which we are ushered. As you cast 
your eye casually towards the cupboard, you behold a 
silver cup, of antique style, heavily wrought. This 
you would like to examine ; for it is really a curiosity. 
It bears the initials F. G., and seems like a ^•elic of other 
and better days. There is a mystery about that old 
silver cup : it has a story and a moral, you fancy, which 


DOT TINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 117 

you would like to have revealed ; but a sense of pro- 
priety silences your curiosity. 

And now cast yoiu' eyes around. The walls are 
neatly papered. Throughout the house, there are pipes, 
conveying water to all the apartments ; in the attic there 
is a bathing -room, fitted with pipes for warm and cold 
baths ; there are two neat chambers above, each with 
its wardrobe attached. On the first and second fioors, 
each, there is a hall communicating with the front door; 
-on the first fioor are two neat parlors, and a convenient 
kitchen, with its bake-oven, wash-room, cistern, and 
pantries ; a warm, dry, tight cellar completes the inter- 
nal arrangements. Every thing here bears inspection, 
and wears the appearance of comfort and convenience. 

Mrs. Wallace bears the marks of sore trials and dis- 
ease. The destroyer, we fear, has but too surely set his 
seal upon her. She is not long for earth. Her heavy 
afflictions of mind and body have been too much for 
her frail constitution ; and she is yielding fast to the 
stroke. Little Agnes is stitching collars ; and her 
mother sits by a lamp, reading to her from the Bible. 
Her Prayer-Book lies by her, on the little stand. It is 
early yet for a lamp ; but Mrs. Wallace’s eyes have 
grown weak under disease and long vigils. She is now 
barely able to sit up and read a few lines, for her own 
and her daughter’s consolation, from that treasure-book 
of divine love. 

It is good for us to be here, to behold the calm, holy 
resignation of that uncomplaining spirit, which seems 
already to be clothed, or clothing itself, for the spirit- 
world. We seem to catch whispers, as if angels were 
passing about the room and discoursing of heavenly 


118 


THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 


things. Speak on, ye glorious messengei*s ! Tell us of 
our Father’s home and love ! Win us from the earth, 
and bear our affections upwards! Catch the tear of 
gratitude from that humble, thankful woman, and bear 
it up to God ; it will turn to a gem, and be set in a 
crown, for the head of him who hath mercy on the 
widow and the orphan I 

A ring at the bell. Little Agnes runs , to the door ; 
a small, spare man, with quick, sparkling eyes, and 
sedate countenance, enters. “ How do you do to-night ? 
I hope you are better, Mrs. Wallace. And this is your 
little daughter Agnes? And these friends? Well, 
never mind : I’ve seen this gentleman before. If there 
is any thing more needed in this house for your com- 
fort, Mrs. Wallace, let me know; it shall be provided. 
A friend paid me your rent to-day six months in ad- 
vance. But, — but, — well, well, it matters not. I know 
all. Please receive that. Madam,” handing her, or 
rather placing on the stand at her side, a small pack- 
age. ‘‘ There, please say nothing ; it’s all right. Good- 
night ; good-night. I can’t stay longer. Hope you will 
do well. God bless you and your little daughter.” And 
Mr. Friendly was off, after giving into the widow’s hand 
a good portion of the rent he had received. 

Go, happy man, and God Almighty bless thee 1 The 
gift that fell from thy hands was seen and counted by 
an angel, who flew overjoyed to heaven, and his com- 
panions pressed around him and caught his words as he 
told them out to the recording angel I Thou shalt be 
remembered ! “ Cast thy bread upon the waters ; for, 

after many days thou shalt find it.” And ah ! couldst 
thou have seen that stricken mother press to her bosom. 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


119 


with her full mother’s heart, the little daughter at her 
side, and bathe her fair cheeks in tears of joy and grat- 
itude ; couldst thou have heard that benediction, and 
seen those streaming eyes ; methinks thou wouldst have 
been carried nearer heaven, and have^ sympathized 
with the angels and redeemed spirits. But, go on ; 
thou shalt not be forgotten! “Inasmuch as ye have 
done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye 
have done it unto me.” “ Come, ye blessed of my 
Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the 
foundation of the world.” Matt. xxv. 34:^ 40. 


120 


THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 


CHAPTER X. 

THE B.’S IN TROUBLE, COGITATIONS, THE TRAINING OF 

CHILDREN. 

Mr. Blemmerton hurried home at an early hour, that 
afternoon. “In the multitude of counsellors there is 
wisdom.” Happy thought! Mr. B. will improve it, 
by calling a council that evening, not exactly of war, 
but of device and advice. So he delayed not to de- 
spatch a messenger to Mrs. Fussy, Mrs. ISTochurch, and 
Mrs. Fastidious, earnestly requesting their presence at 
his house after tea. 

Something of importance was certainly on hand. 
This Ml’S. Fussy knew full well; and, by a sort of in- 
stinctive prescience, she knew what it was. So, before 
the messenger was out of sight, she was bonneted and 
off. She ran in first to see Mrs. Quiet. “ Mrs. Quiet, 
have you been sent for, to go to Mr. Blemmerton’s this 
evening This question was simply an introductory. 
She knew Mrs. Quiet had not been sent for. “Ho, I 
have not.” “ Dear me, what can be going on ? I have 
just been sent for, to go there after tea ; and the girl 
told me she had several other ladies to invite. Some- 
thing is on foot, you may depend. I guess they have 
heard that Mr. Lovegood will accept the call ; or per- 
haps they have heard that he will not. Which do you 
think it is, Mrs. Quiet?” “Beally, I cannot sa}^; but 
neither, I apprehend. Mr. Quiet wrote to Mr. Love- 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 121 

good ; and I apprehend when there is a reply he will 
receive it, — as yet he has received no intelligence from 
him.” “Well, how strange! I do wonder what is 
going on !” . 

Meantime Mrs. hTochurch pays a flying visit to her 
Presbyterian neighbor, who takes a lively interest in 
the afiairs of St. ’s Church, and is wonderfully in- 

telligent on the subjects of Puseyism, High-Church, 
etc., and from her heart pities all Churchmen who are 
so silly as to be “ tied,” as she says, “ to forms and cere- 
monies,” and to hold that “ barbarous idea of the dark 
ages, the Apostolic succession.” “ You don’t say so 1” 
exclaims Mrs. Presbyterian, in reply to Mrs. Hochurch’s 
announcement. “ It’s too good almost to be believed.” 
“ I do verily believe it ! He must have declined, and 
I am so glad ; for I did not want that Mr. Lovegood to 
come here. Mrs. Blemmerton says he is a rank Pusey- 
ite. She said Mr. Blemmerton said so ; for he knew 
that he bowed in the Creed, and this is one of the signs. 
Discerning people read such matters very easily. I am 
right glad. I hope he has declined ; for we want no 
unchurching of other Churches 1” 

Ml'S. Fussy, as she runs round, meets Mrs. Fastidious. 
“ Dear Mrs. Fussy, I am happy to meet you. Have 
you heard the news ? Is it so ? Can it be possible ? I 
did not want Mr. Lovegood for our pastor; for I’ve 
been told that he is not at all suited to us. They say 
he is not a popular preacher ; at least that he is not 
eloquent enough for us. And I am sure if that be the 
case, I cannot go to church in the afternoon ; for a dull, 
prosy preacher would not keep my eyes open. And 
they say, if we stay at home in the afternoon, we shall 
6 


122 THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 

be sure to hear of it. O, dear Mrs. Fussy, just think 
of that ! It is unbearable !” 

Before eight o’clock that little council was in session. 
Business opened by the reading of Mr. Lovegood’s let- 
ter to Mr. Blemmerton, which the reader will remember 
was simply a refusal to preach what Mr. B. called a 
trial sermon. The merits and demerits of the aforesaid 
letter were freely discussed. As to merit they could 
see none in it, except that, as the ladies understood it, 
it was a declining of the call to the Church. This 
they deemed highly satisfactory, and so declared unani- 
mously. But they had no conception of a call to St. 
’s Church being entertained with so much indiffer- 
ence. He might have gone a little more into details ; 
have been more complaisant and respectful to Mr. 
Blemmerton and the vestry. But they supposed it was 
characteristic ! 

“ How, Mr. Blemmerton,” remarked Mrs. Fastidious, 
“if we could only get Mr. Powerful here, whom I 

heard last summer at , we should be made. He is 

so eloquent; so graceful in his delivery; has such a 
soft, sweet voice; and is so captivating! O, I do wish 

we could get him in St. ’s Church ! And I am 

sure he would come ; for Mrs. Graceful told me that he 
ought to have a more important field of labor ; that a 
man of his talent was buried alive where he is. How, 
can’t you make an effort to get Mr. Powerful for us ?” 

Ho, no. Mr. Blemmerton’s skirts are now clear! 
It’s useless for him to try to do any thing. All his 
efforts for the good of the congregation have been op- 
posed. He is now done, and will fall back on his dig- 
nity. “ Let them have their own way. Let them ha^e 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 128 

their own way,” said he. Mrs. I^ochnrch thought, that 
“ Dr. Kanter would be the best choice they could make ; 
for he has extemporary prayers in his Sunday-school 
room during the week-day evenings ; is very friendly 
with the Presbyterians ; sometimes preaches for them ; 
and is such a good, evangelical man.” She was sure, 
if they called him, a good many Presbyterians would 
come to church, for Mrs. Presbyterian had told her so. 

Mrs. Fussy had one objection to Mr. Lovegood, which 
as yet she had not named ; and she had just heard it 
that day. “They say he is not married. And, dear 
me, what do we want with a high and dry old bache- 
lor !” This is news to Mrs. Blemmerton. She was not 
i aware of this befoi’e. But, for her part, she could see 
’ nothing so awful in his being unmarried. She thought 
\ he might get married. She reckoned, among so many 
I interesting, intelligent single ladies in the congregation, 
he might get a suitable wife ; if he were not too ugly 
and unpopular. 

; “ Yes,” said Mrs. Fastidious, smiling, “ there is E’anny 

: Jumper, and Jennie Smart, and Alice Smooth, and — 

; and D ” “ O, no — no — no !” exclaimed Mrs. Blem- 

! merton, “ don’t name such a thing !” 
j So the ladies dispersed after all, in a good humor, 

\ which happy state was bro.ught about at the expense of 
' the prospective Mrs. Lovegood. It acted like a charm 
; on Mrs. Blemmerton ; for, though she had said nothing, 
yet she had a great deal in store. But the announce- 
! ment of the fact that Mr. Lovegood was a single man, 
mollified her very much, and made her gentle and ami- 
able towards everybody, and particularly so towards 
Mr. Lovegood. Mi's. Fastidious, too, had come near 


124 


THE BLEMMEETONS; OE, 


touching a spring, in enumerating suitable young ladies. 
Tire mere suggestion of a marriage, or the naming of a 
wedding, on such an occasion, is always sure to bring 
about a happy equilibrium. It puts everybody in a 
good humor; it acts like oil poured on the troubled 
waves. 

And the result? Simply, as usual on such occasions, 
a misunderstanding. The news flew about the congre- 
gation, the next day, that Mr. Lovegood had declined ■ 
the call ; and the strangest part of the story was, that 
the declining was forwarded to Mr. Blemmerton. 
After the aforesaid ladies took their departure, Mr. 
Blemmerton recounted to his wife and daughters the 
mysterious transaction between himself and Agnes 
Wallace. That he had not named to his visitors; for 
it involved a secret worth keeping. He entered into 
every particular, not omitting to name the receipt and 
the contents of the note signed, “ One who knows.” 

“ Who can that mysterious stranger be ?” said he. Mrs. 
B., though uniformly apt at guessing, was completely 
tongue-tied. She hadn’t the most remote idea. 

Miss Deliah Airmyth thought it might possibly be 
Mr. Quiet, as she had heard it whispered “ that he was^ 
a curious old man.” “ Ho, it cannot be Mr. Quiet,” 
said he ; “ for she said he was a stranger ; by which I 
suppose she meant some one that I do not know.” 

‘‘ Ah ! that reminds me, pa,” said Miss Julia Jasper. 
And here Miss Julia Jasper repeats the remarks she . 
made to Mr. Heartful the night of the party, about / 
Agnes Wallace’s calling at the door to see her father; | 
and also what Mr. Heartful related of his having met a 
little girl the same night, and accompanied her home, 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


125 


and been with her father when he died. “ How 
strange!” said the father. ‘‘Yes, father,” continued 
Miss Julia Jasper, “it must have been Mr. Heartful; 
for I remember that he seemed annoyed at my remarks ; 
he laid great stress .on his words, and spoke signifi- 
cantly.” 

“ O, Julia 1” said Mrs. B., “ how could you have been 
so foolish as to speak about such matters with Mr. 
Heartful? You are very much to blame. Oh, dear, I 
can’t forgive you ! He is such a nice gentleman. I 
gave my party with a view of getting him here, as soon 
as I heard he was in town. And now this spoils all 
my hopes.” Poor Miss Julia burst into tears. The 
Blemmertons are all exceedingly uncomfortable. We 
pity them ; but folly, sooner or later, is sure to bring its 
reward. 

Miss Deliah Airmyth reminds her father, that Mr. 

’ Heartful had, a day or so before, gone to pay a visit at 
Heartfulville. She had heard it that afternoon, while 
out taking a walk. “ And this,” said Mrs. B., “ accounts 
for that letter from Mr. Lovegood. Mr. Heartful has 
talked with him. And no doubt Mr. Lovegood has 
; heard all about the Wallaces and the rent. O, Julia, 

I Julia 1 how could you have done so I I’m ruined, I’m 
ruined 1” 

And herein Mrs. B. takes trouble on interest ; but a 
guilty conscience is its own accuser. It wraps itself in 
a shadowy cloud, which has the power of refiection, 
and throws back what it fancies others see and know. 
Mr. Heartful had not exchanged a word with Mr. Love- 
good on such a topic ; but it was easy for Mrs. Blem- 
merton to imagine that he had. And now, instead of 


126 THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 

pining over the sin involved in their treatment of the 
Wallaces, she was mainly, if not solely, grieved, that 
she saw in these transactions a formidable barrier placed 
in the way of her hopes and aspirations. Sin ever car- 
ries its lash and sting with it ; and family sins descend 
to remote generations, wind themselves through, and 
entwine themselves about, the members of a family in 
all their ways and works. 

Mr. and Mrs. Blemmerton, in the training of their 
daughters, had lost sight of the true aims and ends of 
life. Had they themselves been actuated by good mo- 
tives and sound principles, they would have been spared 
such reflections as they were now compelled to make. 
But the children had copied from the parents ; and the 
example was patented. And here we have but an epit- 
ome of whabmust fall to their lot through life, and to 
their children’s children after them, unless, by the grace 
of God, they are led to see the error of their way, and 
hasten to repent, and amend, as far as possible, what 
they have done amiss. 

O what a blessed treasure is a good wife ! a good 
mother ! O ye angels of light and purity ! O ye spirits 
of the holy and the just, rise up and call her blessed ! 
The good mother will suppress in her daughter the 
subtle poison of vanity, pride of dress and fashion, 
and fondness for show ; and will teach her, that woman 
has a higher, nobler sphere in life than the merely sen- 
timental. She will not permit her to be deceived by such 
coined phrases as “feminine accomplishments,” — by 
which is meant only the accouplement of worldliness with 
a fashionable education, — into the belief that woman is 
fitted only for that which is light and trifling. But she 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 127 

begins with her daughter at an early age, and endeav- 
! ors to point out to her her true sphere, her true stand- 
point in the universe of mind ; to draw out her spiritual 
nature ; to teach her, that she is designed by Provi- 
dence for more than a toy or plaything, or a mere dream- 
! er in die world ; that it is her office, to soothe the sor- 
: rowings of humanity, to be its kindly and gentle moni- 
I tor, to pour the oil of joy and gladness upon the troub- 
; led waves of its sea of life, and to gild all its pathway 
! with sunshine ; and to aid her, in her efforts and aspi- 
rations to gather the fruits which cluster on the tree of 
I knowledge, to pluck the flowers, — ^yea, and wreathe 
I them about her brow, — that bloom along the pathway 
I of usefulness. 

j On a theme so important, we beg leave to turn aside 
: awhile, to throw out a few chance suggestions. It can 
• scarcely be denied, that the routine of what is termed 
I “ fashionable life,” is unfavorable to the growth of 
i sound morals and solid piety. There is a rottenness at 
I the very heart of much of our conventional formality ; 

; in its ostentation, extravagance, luxury, idleness, dissi- 
j pation, gossiping, and their attendant evils in example, 
and the rivalries, jealousies, and bickerings growing out 
of them, that stagnates the healthful growth of virtue 
and religion. And one of its evil effects, and one be- 
ginning to be sorely felt, is its deteriorating power and 
influence over the young. Devotion to the world, is al- 
lowed to rob parents of time to perform their duty to 
their children. This had been the great fault of the 
Blemmertons. When they set out in life, their great 
struggle was for the “ Almighty Dollar.” They had 
but one flxed, settled aim and purpose in life. That was 


128 THE BLEMMEETONS; OE, 

to accumulate wealth : that accomplished, their desires 
took another turn. Ambition was now their guiding 
motive ; to he accounted of consequence, to make a 
show in the world, to effect advantageous marriages for 
their daughter : these were the impulses that prompt- 
ed and guided all their actions. W e cannot fail to see, 
then, that however competent they might have been, to 
form and mould the dispositions of their daughters 
aright, had they been actuated by true Christian princi- 
ples, the world interposed a fearful barrier ; and they 
were suffered to come to matmdty, dwarfed and biased, 
for lack of proper management of their passions and af- 
fections while young. 

And herein lies the root of a great wrong in the nur- 
ture of children : — 1st, in yielding to their whims and 
caprices. See that little fellow rubbing his eyes and 
sobbing : “Mamma, give me a cake.” Hear mamma, 
petulantly, as she casts aside her work : “ O, bless me, 
what a plague ! There, take it, and begone !” And 
away goes the little fellow in ecstasies. He managed 
his mother. He knew her weak point, and skilfully 
stormed it. Ay, more; he learned his lesson. You 
smile at this : it is a small matter. True. Your child 
also is small ; now he asks only a small thing ; but, 
teach him his lesson, yield to all his tears, and soon he 
will make demands that will tear asunder your heart- 
strings, and leave them bleeding. 

2d. In the manner of correcting children, applying 
discipline in a pet or passion, not doing it in love, and 
making the child feel that it is done, not to gratify your 
own passion, nor simply because you have the power, but 
because it is your duty to God and to your child, thus 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


129 


manifesting and carrying in your hand love, gentleness, 
affection, sanctified by the authority which cometh 
down from the “ Father of lights, with whom is no va- 
riableness, neither shadow of turning.” 

3d. In accounting childish anger a trifiing thing, 
when in fact it requires the nicest management. Your 
little boy or girl falls into a pet or pout, and you give it 
a lump of sugar to cure the ailment. He or she dashes 
it against the floor and pouts the more. Then “ mam- 
ma’s son or daughter is very naughty and mamma 
plies the sugar again, and again it is dashed on the 
floor. “ Yery well, you naughty child now wait till I 
pick it up.” And then most likely the scene ends in a cry, 
and perhaps a sudden or angered chastisement. Is no 
wrong committed ? Certainly there is ; for, nothing has 
been done to counteract that childish anger. The child 
has not been taught, that its pettishness was wrong ^ 
but that mamma chastised it because she was angry : 
hence, after all, it learned as a lesson, that its passion 
was but a small thing in contrast with the parent’s dis- 
pleasure. And the parent’s duty is not discharged, un- 
til the child is taught to realize, as fully as possible, 
that its anger was sinful, and that now it must be angry 
and grieved at the sin it has committed. Or again : 
yom* child falls against a chair and hurts itself. Its flrst 
impulse is apt to be a desire to hurt the chair in return. 
And the parent or nurse, to quiet the child, strikes the 
chair a smart blow. “ How, you naughty chair, take 

that, for hurting little .” The child smiles, its tears 

are dried, but a great wrong has been committed. In 
fact, it would have been better, had the child cried the 
day out, than that any such thing should have been 
6 » 


130 


THE BLEMMEETONS; OE, 


done ; for it teaches the child, that such manifestations 
of anger, mingled with a desire of revenge, are right, 
and tends to fix the habit of revenge in the heart. 

4th. In controlling the self-love of children. It al- 
ways manifests itself very strongly. Indeed, it may 
be safely asserted, that selfishness develops itself in 
children, first of all the passions or affections, and be- • 
nevolence the last, perhaps ; at least, its development 
is of much slower growth. “ Meum and tuum” are 
soon understood by a child, and strongly manifested ; 
while the opposite, benevolence, the desire of giving 
away what is mine, for the benefit of another, is not so 
easily appreciated. And on this point it cannot be de- 
nied, that many parents grievously err. There are, in- 
deed, honorable exceptions ; but it must be owned, that, 
both by precept and example, the majority of parents 
do cultivate, draw out, and establish in the breasts of 
their children, the principle of selfishness, while all 
their kindly, generous, benevolent feelings, are stified, 
blunted, and repressed, for want of cultivation and de- 
velopment. 

But, while it must be acknowledged, that a purely 
selfish, sordid, grovelling disposition, is a very mean one, 
and one that should be suppressed in children, would 
we train them for their true sphere as creatures of two 
worlds ; let it not be lost sight of, that a spirit of ex- 
ti’avagance and prodigality, the disposition of the spend- 
thrift, is as odious and sinful. It should, then, be the 
parent’s aim, to teach the child, that the good things of 
this life are gifts from the Lord, bestowed upon us, not 
to be lavished in prodigality on our lusts and passions, 
nor to pamper pride and luxury, but to do good to our 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


131 


fellow-men, in our place and sphere, and so glorify our 
Father in heaven. 

The children of the wealthy are often indulged, to a 
shameful extent, in the sin of prodigality ; and many 
are the tears which flow from broken hearts, in the 
wake of this portentous evil. Could we utter a word 
that would be heard and heeded on this point, we 
would say, that young persons should be allowed hut 
little spending money, and of that the parent or guardian 
should take a strict account, requiring from the child 
as exact an account of the spending of every penny 
of it. 

The indulgence of the young with large supplies of 
pocket-money, is a great evil among the wealthy of our 
cities, and in our collegiate and boarding-school educa- 
tion. On the part of boys, it leads to suppers, cards, 
wine, the bar-room, and the theatre, unless there are 
powerful barriers in the way. On the part of girls, it 
leads to extravagance in dress, and to the wretchedness 
of a pampered heart, inflated with pride of wealth and 
desire of ostentation. 

The history of Jacob and Esau opens to our view a 
striking picture ; on the one hand, of covetousness, on 
the other, of prodigality. And it is well worth a care- 
ful consideration, in connection with what we have 
advanced. Jacob coveted the birthright; Esau de- 
spised it, or lightly esteemed it ; and in the history, 
taken as a whole, we have a type of the results of 
family sins. The patriarch Isaac sinned, in rebelling 
against the will of the Lord ; Jacob and his mother 
Eebekah, in coveting the birthright, and attempting to 
aid in bringing about the declared will of heaven in 


132 THE BLEMMEETONS; OK, 

their faithless impatience ; Esau, in despising his tem- 
poral blessings. And hence, parents and children 
clouded over their after life with sorrow. In consider- 
ing this history, then, we behold the misery entailed on 
a whole family, by a single sin on the part of parents ; 
and we learn something of the awful character of 
family sins, in their results upon posterity to remote 
generations. 

The patriarch Isaac intended to frustrate the will of 
God ; and his declining days are rendered pitiable, on 
account of the unhappy quarrel between his sons. 
Eebekah had dealt treacherously with her husband, 
and is now miserable on account of the cheerless pros- 
pect before her. Esau despised his birthright, and now 
sips his folly in sorrow ; is enraged at the unjust con- 
duct of his brother, and burns with revenge. Jacob 
coveted the inheritance, and took unfair means to 
acquire it ; and now he is obliged to fly from all his 
most cherished associations, into a strange land, for the 
preservation of his life. Oh, how it saddens the heart, 
when, years after, in the presence of Pharaoh, we hear 
him exclaim, “ The days of the years of my pilgrimage 
have been a hundred and thirty years : few and evil 
have the days of the years of my life been !” Gen. 
xlvii. 8, 9. 

J acob feels the lash of conscience ; he obeys its 
behests ; the sin of his brother mitigates not his own ; 
he repents him of his wickedness ; forsakes all ; leaves 
the scene of strife ; passes from under his father’s roof, 
where at least he ought to have been secure ; turns his 
back on his happy home, his kind and loving parents, 
and the pleasant scenes of his childhood ; and with 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


133 


staff in hand, lonely and unprotected, he enters on his 
pilgrimage. O Jacob, the supplanter ! I see thee, 
Israel, a prince with God ! Penitence shall wash out 
thy sin. A hard, a rugged life is before thee. But 
Faith looks on to the goal, and there is the crown of 
blessedness. 

Let us behold him at Bethel, also, and learn the 
measure of the work of the penitent, and mark the 
deep compassion of the Almighty, through His blessed 
Son, in watching over us and our little ones, in our 
weakness and waywardness ; and let us humble our- 
selves under His Almighty hand, repent of our sins and 
of our neglect to our offspring, and pray for pardon, and 
amend what we have done amiss, before the evil days 
draw nigh in which we shall find no peace. 

Jacob awakes out of sleep. The bright sun gilds the 
heavens ; darkness has fied, and smiling Nature calls 
the patriarch to imitate her praise to the Almighty. 
The vision has past away. The ladder is removed. 
The angels have gone home. But the Lord is near, and 
Jacob is blessed. His soul is braced for a higher fiight, 
and a wider range in the spiritual life. He sees God 
by faith. That ladder he knows is before him. Those 
blessed spirits are passing up and down, though he 
sees them not. And filled with solemn awe and rever- 
ence, he exclaims, “ Surely the Lord is in this place, 
and I knew it not. How dreadful is this place ! this is 
none other but the house of God, and this is the gate of 
heaven !” 

O, let us all remember, parents and children, and 
lay to heart the grievous sin of Esau. We, too, have 
a birthright, which we received at our baptism, pur- 


134 THE BLEMMEKTONS; OR, 

chased for and secured to us bj the incarnation and 
passion of our Lord Jesus Christ j even reconciliation 
with God and adoption into his family, and the crown- 
ing joys of His presence and glory. Are we, like Esau, 
selling them for naught? Then, alas! we, too, may 
weep and lament when too late : “ Bless me, even me 
also, O my Father : and Esau lifted up his voice and 
wept 1” 

To touch on all the joys and sorrows that mingle in 
this history, would be to write a volume. But there is 
one other picture, on which we would look for a mo- 
ment, ere we leave the deeply interesting story at which 
we have glanced. 

After a storm, the bow in the clouds cheers the heart. 
The bright sun, breaking through clouds and mists, 
after days of darkness, brings joy in its smile. So, 
after viewing the checkered scenes of a history from 
life, it is delightful to turn to some bright spot, which 
casts a radiance over the whole, and relieves the pic- 
ture of many of its saddening tints and colors. This 
we have in the meeting of the brothers, Jacob and 
Esau, after a long separation. After years of estrange- 
ment, time has wrought its changes, and grace has 
moulded the character. Youthful ambition, impa- 
tience, and impetuosity, have had their day ; the pas- 
sions have ceased to revolt against the will of God ; and 
we find the patriarch Jacob journeying with all his 
family and wealth to the land of his brother Esau. 
Penitence has chastened and subdued his heart ; and 
yet, remembering his youthful sin, he feared the anger 
and resentment of his brother. His sin, though re- 
pented of and pardoned, was not forgotten, and seems 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 135 

to cling to his skirts. He sends before him messengers 
and presents to appease Esau. 

O the work of grace that prompted him to seek re- 
conciliation ! And Esau comes out to meet him ; for 
God has touched his heart, and changed it towards his 
brother. And there we behold the penitent, humble 
Jacob, “bowing seven times to the ground until he 
came near to his brother ; and Esau ran to meet him, 
and embraced him, and fell on his neck and kissed 
him ; and they wept.” This is a lovely and affecting 
picture of the best impulses and affections of the human 
heart, and is scarcely surpassed by the meeting between 
Joseph and his brethren. “ They meet, they converse, 
they love as brothers ought to do.” And “ O how good 
and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in 
unity !” “We apprehend a strife of fierce and angry 
looks, of reproachful words, of violence and blood. 
But, how joyful the disappointment ! Behold a con- 
tention of kindness, a blessed contest of affection, the 
honest, heart-melting triumph of nature, the noble vic- 
tory of goodness !” 


13G 


the b l e m m e r t o n s ; or, 


CHAPTER XI. 

MR. LOVEGOOD’s early TROUBLES. THE COMMUNION OF 
SAINTS. 

We must go back, some dozen years or more, in our 
story, and recount a few of the incidents in the life of 
Mr. Lovegood, as they were developed in bis parish at 
He artful ville. We have said, that Mr. Lovegood was 
tenderly beloved by his flock. This is true. But it 
vdll be a mistake to suppose, that he was free from 
trouble and annoyances, of various kinds, and from dif- 
ferent sources. The ministerial life, with all its pleas- 
ures, is never free from trials. 

We care not how pleasant and fair the lines of a 
clergyman’s lot are, yet everywhere will they be found 
to intertwine, more or less, about the conditions of a 
probationary state, and the frailties and weaknesses in- 
cident to fallen humanity. It is the will of the Lord, 
that they who minister at His altars, and follow in the 
regeneration after Him, should partake with Him in 
sufferings, sorrows, reproaches, and chafings of the flesh, 
for His body’s sake, the Church. A young man, on 
setting out in the ministerial ofiice, finds his first tiials, 
whether small or great, hard to endure ; but, time and 
habit inure him to them ; and, at last, he is prepared 
to meet them, as blessings for his spiritual good. 

What should we be worth, wherein should we find 




DOTTIKGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


137 


tests of oiir true spiritual state, were it not that we are 
sometimes cast into the furnace ? This tempers us to 
the task before us ; this tends to certify to us whereof 
we are made. O., how many hopes linger after, how 
many prayers follow, the young Herald of the Cross, 
when he goes forth to battle with the combined powers 
of darkness ! Perhaps he goes a stranger to a strange 
land, not knowing what is before him : whether perils 
by land or perils by sea, shipwreck, or disease, or death. 

In the old church at home, he has been commissioned 
unto his work, and put his armor on ; in the old church 
at home, he has lifted up his heart and voice in prayer, 
and, with the full congregation of friends and neigh- 
bors, and loving relatives, he has repeated that glowing 
confession : “ I believe in the Communion of Saints.” 
But he never so fully realized it as now ; now that he 
goes a stranger unto a strange land. Ah ! there is a 
mighty potency in that doctrine of the Communion of 
Saints, which, alas ! but too many of us do not fully re- 
alize when we feel alone on the earth. Could our eyes 
be opened to invisible things, we should behold on all 
sides their wonders and tokens. We live by. faith, in 
the splendor of the Gospel day. We realize but little 
of the awful mystery in which, day by day, we move 
in the mystical Communion of Saints, in the fellowship 
of the inhabitants of the Spirit-land, the angels of light, 
who are around us, to extend to us, in ways hidden and 
secret, the mercies of their and our common Father. 

The angels are God’s messengers unto us for good, 
and ministers from the courts above. In the old dis- 
pensation, the ministry of angels was conspicuous ; and 
the' prophets, especially Elisha, held wonderful commu- 


138 THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 

nications with those messengers of God. Of this we 
have a remarkable evidence in 2 Kings, vi. 17, etc. 

There was war between Syria and Israel. The king 
of Syria was sorely baffled, in all his plans of warfare. 
The Israelites seemed to understand, in advance, all his 
secret movements, and to be able to elude his wiles to 
entrap them ; so he fancied that some of his warriors 
dealt treacherously with liirn, and he accordingly ac- 
cused them. But he was told, that it all was the work 
of the prophet Elisha ; that the prophet knew even the 
thoughts of his heart in his chamber, and revealed them 
to the king of Israel. The king of Syria determined, 
then, to capture the prophet, who resided at Dothan. 
His horses and chariots surrounded the city at night. 
In the morning, a servant of the prophet went out ; and, 
seeing the formidable array of homes and chariots 
which surrounded the city, he returned in trepidation 
to his master, with the sad news, crying out, ‘‘ Alas ! 
my master, how shall we do?” But Elisha was not 
terrified. He knew, that he was surrounded by the 
Lord’s hosts: therefore he said to him, “Fear not; for 
they that be with us are more than they that be with 
them.” “ And Elisha prayed, and said. Lord, I pray 
Thee open his eyes, that he may see. And the Lord 
opened the eyes of the young man ; and he saw ; and, 
behold, the mountain was full of horses and chariots of 
fire round about Elisha.” 

So the camp of God is ever round His faithful chil- 
dren. These were the holy angels whom this young 
man saw, who were at hand ready to guard his master, 
in ways secret to him. And as they were far more 
powerful and numerous than the Assyrian host, his 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


139 


fears were stilled, when he beheld the prophet standing 
in the centre of that glorious camp, so encircled and 
defended as that none of his enemies could do him vio- 
lence. And was the prophet insensible to this invisible 
host which surrounded him? i^ay; whether by faith 
or inspiration, he knew that they encamped about him. 
He enjoyed a citizenship in the imseen world; his 
citizenship was in heaven. His eye was made keen, to 
pierce the veil that shuts out invisible things, and to 
behold the legions of God, His horses and chariots of 
fire, round about him, for his protection and deliverance. 
He had his hours of loneliness, when he felt solitary on 
the earth ; and yet he enjoyed the high privilege of 
knowing in what communion and fellowship he dwelt. 
He lived in the society of the court of heaven. And 
thus was revealed to him, in no small measure, that 
blessed Christian doctrine of the Communion of Saints. 
He held communion and fellowship with all saints from 
the beginning ; and, while emboldened by the imme- 
diate succor and presence of angels, he was animated 
and encouraged by the good examples of all those saints 
and servants of the Most High, whether patriarchs or 
prophets, priests or lawgivers, who had departed in the 
true faith and fear of God, and who, by their life of 
holiness, spake a lesson of the deepest interest, and 
seemed to surround him with their trophies, and urge 
him on to a manly combat with the enemies of God 
and of souls. 

Behold, too, and mark the horses and chariots of fire, 
by which the faithful Christian is surrounded. See 
how wonderfully this vision corresponds with the blessed 
privilege which the Apostle tells us is conferred on us. 


140 


THE BLEMMEKTONS; OR 


“Ye are come,” says he, “unto mount Sion, and unto 
the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and 
to an innumerable company of angels, to the general 
assembly and church of the first-born, which are written 
in heaven, and to God the Judge of all, and to the spirits 
of just men made perfect, and to Jesus the Mediator of 
the new covenant, and to the blood of sprinkling, that 
speaketh better things than that of Abel.” 

O what an host ! How awful, yet how sublime, our 
privilege ! There you have the mount, and here you 
behold Elisha, and an innumerable company of angels, 
and the spirits of the just. We with him dwell, as it 
were, beneath their shadow, and are baptized into the 
fellowship. The angels are our guardians ; the saints 
of all ages, our ensamples; God is our Father, and 
Jesus Christ our Mediator. We dwell in the very court 
of God, and of His eternal Son our Saviour, who died 
for us, and rose again, and ascended up on high, lead- 
ing captivity captive, and receiving gifts for men. 

And we say there is a potency in this doctrine, not 
always realized, even by those who are striving for the 
mastery. But, perhaps, we approach its true realiza- 
tion more nearly than at any other period, when we go 
forth from all we have known and twined our heart 
about, to mingle in new scenes and associations, or per- 
chance to feel desolate in the world, having few to sym- 
pathize with us, and none exactly to understand us, as 
those with whom we have journeyed long, or taken 
sweet counsel together. It is then, perhaps, if ever, 
while the fiesh hangs about us, we feel the full strength 
of that holy bond, which holds in one mighty fellow- 
ship “ angels, and living saints and dead !” It is then 




DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 141 

we feel the blessedness of the tie of the family relation- 
ship in Christ Jesus ; that though we are strangers and 
pilgrims, far away from home and friends, and kindly 
sympathies, we yet dwell in the heavenly court, and 
are surrounded by the Lord’s hosts, with whom we have 
fellowship ; and that we are akin indeed unto Imman- 
uel, and at last, when the weary way is run, we shall 
pass through the vale, and enter into rest. 

It was with a sad heart that Mr. Lovegood bade 
adieu to the home of his childhood, to enter on the 
duties of his new calling. How ^1 the past gushed up 
into his heart, and the scenes of his youth, his happy 
home, the tender solicitude of his honored parents, and 
all the associations that twined about his heart, crowded 
upon his memory, we need not relate. 

A few days brought him to his destination ; and now 
before him lies a field of toil and privations, from which 
he might have shrunk, had he been over-timid or 
cowardly. But he had counted the cost, and buckled 
on his armor. The church at Heartfulville was vener- 
able from its antiquity ; and the new Hector trod in the 
steps of a number of worthy clergymen, whose dust 
rested quietly in the consecrated and beautiful church- 
yard. But the last Hector had been one of those easy 
men, who had sufiered things to take their own course. 
He was a good, worthy, and amiable man, but seemed 
never to have fully appreciated the Church’s system. 
Consequently, the parishioners were but indifierently 
instructed in Church doctrines. 

Except here and there a few, who had acquainted 
themselves with distinctive Church principles, it may 
he said of the congregation, that they knew no differ- 


142 


THE BLEMMEETONS; OE 


ence between tbe Church and Methodism and Presby- 
terianism, or any other ism. The old Eector had never 
troubled himself about such questions ; not exactly be- 
cause he despised them, but because he deemed them 
unprofitable, and, for the most part, useless. It must 
be told that, with rare exceptions, it was not the fashion 
at that day, and in the region of Heartfulville especial- 
ly, to care much about the doctrines and principles of 
the Church. The congregation were not taught the 
apostolic succession^ nor the sanctity of baptism, nor 
any thing about the sin of schism. They were not 
taught, that they were members of the Church, but of 
a Church; hence, if, after a brief trial, one did not 
happen to be pleased with this or that, he or she simply 
withdrew to “some other church,” without remon- 
strance. 

You sympathize with a young man, alive to all the 
claims of the Church, in assuming such a charge. He 
needs more than your sympathies ; he needs your 
prayers. And yet this was the proper field for Mr. 
Lovegood. He had enough of moral courage to meet 
every issue, and enough of prudence to avoid rashness. 
He was not long in measuring the ground and work 
before him. 

Owing to the stagnation in growth and life which 
always ensues when a parish “ runs to seed,” there had 
been, for several years, no Sunday School in connection 
with the Church. To revive this work, was Mr. L.’s 
first undertaking. A few days after entering upon his 
duties, he consulted with one of his female parishioners, 
a prominent lady, who thought it a capital idea, and 
one that should be carried into effect, without delay. 


DOT TINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 143 

ISTow it appeared to Mr. L., that this lady would be well 
adapted to the work of Superintendent of the female , 
department. So he remarked to her, “ Miss Bromley, 
you will, of course, take sufficient interest in this work, 
to allow me to name you as Superintendent of the fe- 
male department ?” “ O, Mr. Lovegood, how could 

you think of such a thing ! However, you are excusa- 
ble, as you have been here but a short time. Mrs. Sec- 
tary has been the Superintendent since I was a little 
girl ; and I am sure it would give her great offence to 
be thrust aside, after all she has done for the Sunday 
School, in teaching, furnishing catechisms, tracts, etc. 
I hope you will not think of such a thing ; indeed, it 
will not do to offend Mrs. Sectary. I am willing to be 
of any service in the Sunday School, but I can never 
think of supplanting Mrs. Sectary.” 

“But, Miss Bromley, Mrs. Sectary is* a confirmed, 
rigid Presbyterian ; and I do not see how she is to be 
a Superintendent in a Church Sunday School, or how 
she can consistently proffer to teach the Church Cate- 
chism. It involves an inconsistency that I can scarcely 
conceive possible.” 

“ But,” remarked Miss Bromley, “ we have no Church 
Catechism in the Sunday School. Mr. Slow never in- 
sisted on the Catechism’s being taught ; indeed, he gave 
the whole management of the school to Mrs. Sectary, 
in whom he had great confidence, as she certainly is 
a very pious and exemplary Christian. Still, I believe, 
if the Catechism were introduced, Mrs. Sectary would 
not care, provided she taught her class in her own 
way.” Mr. Lovegood was a little nonplused. He 
thought it best to change the subject, as it promised to 


144 : THE BLEMMEETONS; OE, 

be unprofitable. And after remarking that he would 
think of the matter, and exchanging a few common- 
place remarks, he departed. 

Poor Mr. Lovegood ! Here was a poser. Such a 
thing had never crossed his path. A Presbyterian lady 
Superintendent in a Sunday School of the Church ; and 
Presbyterian doctrines, catechism. Heigh-ho ! 

Mr. L. spent ,that evening in his study, refiecting on 
his course, and maturing his plans. Here was a case 
that required management. To break in suddenly upon 
old-established usages, however wrong they may be in 
themselves, is apt to breed discord and confusion. Had 
it been a question merely between himself and Mrs. 
Sectary, it would not have occupied his thoughts a 
moment. But here, likely, a whole parish was to be 
stirred up, at the very beginning of his labors; and 
Mr. L. kneW} that, although he would be right in taking 
such a course, he might fail to convince the parishionem 
that things ought not to continue as heretofore. So, 
after mature deliberation, he called the next day to 
see Mrs. Sectary. He was kindly received, not, how- 
ever, in the most cordial manner. He soon learned 
from Mrs. Sectary what were her anticipations. She had 
no thought of yielding the time-honored situation, which 
had been conferred upon her in days gone by, by the 
good and charitable old Eector ; and, indeed, by way 
of feeling Mr. Lovegood’s pulse, she launched out in 
unmeasured terms against the exclusiveness and bigotry 
of a few semi-Papists, as she termed them, who had 
sprung up of late in the Episcopal Church, who would 
be so uncharitable as to unchurch other chm’ches. 

Mr. Lovegood permitted the old lady to be as wrathy 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


146 


as she pleased. He kept cool ; and, before the confer- 
ence ended, they were right good friends. And he had 
so far ingratiated himself into her good opinion, not 
by any shadow of concession, but simply by good man- 
agement, as to have it conceded, that it was right, as 
it was an Episcopal School, Episcopal doctrines should 
be taught, and the Church Catechism systematically 
used. Prudence in this case proved to be the better 
part of valor. Mrs. Sectary was to have a class in the 
Sunday School, and there was to be no Superintendent, 
male nor female, the Hector himself intending always 
to be present, and take the oversight. 

In a few weeks, every thing was under way in a 
Church-like manner ; and, reader, would you credit it, 
the old Presbyterian Superintendent had come down to 
a small A, B, C class ! Othello was fast losing his oc- 
cupation. And still more. Miss Bromley, Mrs. Sectary, 
every body, was satisfied. It was not long before Mrs. 
Sectary found, that age impaired her usefulness ; and 
she retired altogether, leaving the field to the Hector. 

But we are ahead of our story. After parting with 
Mrs. Sectary, Mr. Lovegood repaired to the church, 
and examined the Sunday School Library. What was 
his surprise, to find it filled with Presbyterian books, 
tracts, catechisms, etc. Many of the tracts were ex- 
tremely objectionable, as, of course, were all the works 
he found, but especially the tracts ; because, not content 
with simply teaching Presbyterianism, they pointedly 
assailed the Church in her Liturgy, ofiices, doctrines, etc. 
“ This will never do,” quoth Mr. Lovegood. “ The 
books must remain, I suppose, till I can gradually work 
them out. I can control them ; but these tracts and 
7 


146 THE BLEMMEETONS; O.. 

catechisms must vanish.” And Mr. L. deliberately 
gathered them up, took them to the stove, and thrust 
them in. Hequiescant in jpaoe. 

Mrs. Sectary would have said this was sacrilege, at 
that time. But Mr. Lovegood did not intend that they 
should remain there, to disseminate Presbyterianism, 
and that under his own auspices. E^ow it never occur- 
red to Mr. ^Lovegood, that, as it was the season of 
spring, and the stove was not used, he had better apply 
a match to them. Ashes are safer than printed docu- 
ments. The library had been closed for several years ; 
and no one knew what it contained, and a match would 
have put those tracts beyond the power of revivifica- 
tion. 

On a balmy day, late in summer, some ladies visited 
the old church, to revive pleasant memories of “ auld 
lang syne and a curious little child disentombed the 
old tracts and catechisms from the stove. Ah, Mr. 
Lovegood, you are to smart for this; it is certainly 
your work. We know it. “And what a sin! What 
a sacrilege ! Did you ever see or hear of the like ? All 
these blessed tracts intended to be burnt !” “ Who fur- 

nished them?” “Mrs. Sectary; good Mrs. Sectary!” 
“ O, me ! ah, me !” and the ladies came near shedding 
tears over those tracts, that were so profuse in their 
abuse of the poor Church. As precious relics, the cher- 
ished tracts were gathered up, and borne in triumph to 
Mrs. Sectary. 

ISTow, reader, imagine the scene, if you can; and 
count the anathemas that fell on the head of the uncon- 
scious and unoffending young Rector, who simply de- 
sired to save the lambs of the fold from the sins of her- 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 147 

esy and schism ; to save them from the poison of that 
tirade of abuse against the Mother of their love, con- 
tained in these very tracts. The news flew ahont on 
the wings of the wind. Poor tracts, ye came near the 
burning ; ye were even threatened with martyrdom ; ye 
made a narrow escape. 

It was a long time before Mr. Lovegood knew any 
thing about it. It appears that Mrs. Sectary, however, 
took his part, and saved him in his defencelessness, by 
saying that he had done right. “These tracts were 
against the principles and doctrines of his Church : she 
knew it, and she would do the same thing ; she would 
burn, and had burnt, every Episcopal tract that she 
laid her hands upon, that taught any thing against 
Presbyterianism, and she did not see why he should 
not do the same thing.” Bravo ! Good for the young 
Hector. It saved him many a scathing reproof and bit- 
ter reproach. It satisfled most, hut not all, the parish- 
ioners ; and the matter was quieted. Still, Mrs. Sec- 
tary’s opinion did not correspond with that of another 
Presbyterian lady, who thought it a high-handed meas- 
ure ; rank Popery, and a development that should be 
nipped in the bud. And she vowed, that she would 
“ see Mr. l!7abob, and disclose the afiair to him, and see 
if some ofiicial action could not be had, to rebuke the 
youthful David.” 

Now, Mr. Nabob was a vestryman of the Church in 
Heartfulville, and deemed himself of considerable con- 
sequence; more, however, on account of his wealth, 
than any intrinsic qualities of merit that he possessed. 
And it so happened, that Mr. Lovegood had, not long 
before, unwittingly ofiended the dignity of Mr. Nabob. 


48 THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 

It had been the practice, from time immemorial, for 
the congregation to remain in the church after service, 
as well as congregate there before service, to pass the 
civilities of the day, discuss the current gossip, talk 
about the weather, trade, the crops, etc. ; and this, with 
all the freedom and hilarity of the highway or the mart 
of trade. This had annoyed Mr. Lovegood exceed- 
ingly ; and he had taken various steps to put a stop to 
it, without success. On one occasion, about the period 
of which we are writing, discovering a great deal of 
loud and boisterous conversation after service, he re- 
quested an elderly gentleman, better known for the real 
goodness of his heart than for any pretensions to the 
suaviter in modo^ to request the persons engaged in 
conversation to retire from the sanctuary. .Mr. Love- 
good overheard only a few chance words : “ House of 
God, — not the place for such conversation, — set apart, 
—sanctified, — out of doors the place.” “ Who sent you 
to me. Sir ?” “ Your Eector, — Rector, — too much talk- 

ing, — too boisterous, — not Church-like !” It happened 
that the aforesaid old gentleman spoke to Mr. Hahob, 
and these chance words passed between the two. 

How, Mr. Lovegood did not ask him to speak to any 
one in particular, and in his name, hut simply supposed 
that he would make a suggestion, as he passed along ; 
and that his kindly suggestion, as he was a father in 
Israel, would be taken in the same spirit. But Mr. 
Hahob was highly offended ; hence, when the aforesaid 
Presbyterian lady revealed to him the intended mar- 
tyrdom of the tracts, he seized upon it as a ground of 
assault upon Mr. Lovegood. 

“ It was a high-handed measure,” he said. ‘‘ Their 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


149 


rights and liberties were invaded. It was an offence 
against law and order, and decency, and should be re- 
dressed.” Accordingly, at the next meeting of the 
Yestry, Mr. Nabob brought a sweeping charge against 
the young Hector, for destroying, burning, or attempt- 
ing to bm-n, the books of the Church ; books, too, that 
had been presented to the Sunday School by so eminent 
and pious a lady as Mrs. Sectary. 

Mr. Lovegood recounted the whole affair, and ex- 
plained the principles and motives by which he was 
actuated. The Yestry, quite unanimously, bore him 
out, and dismissed the matter, as one which they had 
no right to control. One of the body asked Mr. Nabob, 
if he supposed that a Presbyterian preacher would al- 
low our Catechism to be taught in his school ? or tracts 
to be disseminated there, which were repugnant to 
Presbyterianism? This thought seemed to settle the 
question ; and Mr. Lovegood rejoiced, that a new era 
was dawning upon his parish. He saw that his efforts 
thus far had been blessed, and that a sounder, healthier 
feeling began to pervade his parish. His Yestry would 
sustain him ; which, six months before, they would not 
have done ; and this was to him a great comfort and 
encouragement. 

But Mr. Nabob was not satisfied ; and the story runs, 
that he consulted an eminent lawyer, in a neighboring 
town, to ascertain whether Mr. Lovegood could not be 
prosecuted for his high-handed offence. The lawyer 
laughed at him ; and he returned home to annoy the 
young Hector in other ways, and through other jneans. 
For four or five yearn, he continued a system of petty 
annoyances. Yet the Hector lived through it all ; lived 


150 THE BLEMMEETONS; OE, 

down his opposition, and lived to see the day that Mr. 
Nabob cherished him as warmly as any of his parish- 
ioners. 

We need not pause, to recount the thousand and one 
ups and downs, and petty annoyances, through w^hich 
Mr. Lovegood was called to pass. We have detailed 
so much, merely in support of our postulate, that no 
clergyman is free from trouble ; that, however pleasant 
the lines of life may appear to be to the casual observer, 
sin will arise in its strength, and there will he found 
causes of dissension, and opposition, and strife, to fill 
the pastoral heart with grief and anxiety. And now, 
after many huffetings and privations, after long years 
of toil, Mr. Lovegood, having breasted the waves of 
ignorance and prejudice, finds himself, at the period 
we are introduced to him, in a united parish, and 
among an affectionate people, who understand and ap- 
preciate the Church, and love him very tenderly, as a 
man, and for his work’s sake. 

It was therefore not without pain, that he brought 

himself to think of accepting the call to St. ’s 

Church ; and yet, the more he thought of it, the more 
did he feel disposed to accept it. But when he refiect- 
ed on the number of years that he had ministered to 
his present flock, the troubles through which he had 
passed, — and, strange as it may appear, it is neverthe- 
less time, troubles, afflictions, heart-griefs, do attach us 
to the places in which, or the people among whom, we 
have endured them, — the yearning love that he bore to 
his flock, and the esteem and veneration in which they 
held him, — when he looked out upon his flowers, and 
heard the familiar voices of the wrens, and the mock- 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


151 


ing-bii’ds, his daily companions, about his quiet study, 
— above all, when he considered the sacredness of the 
pastoral tie, now strengthened by the joys and sorrows 
of years, his heart almost died within him, and he 
groaned aloud in his spirit. But so it was, he felt 
called of God. 

Of this impression he could not divest himself. He 
prayed for grace and guidance. In his full, ripe man- 
hood, he wept like a child. But the hand of the Lord 
was upon him. He could not draw back. He must 
leave these pleasant scenes ; and other hands must feed 
his loving flock; other ears greet the melody of his 
singing-birds; another’s heart be lifted up in prayer 
and praise in that goodly old sanctuary; another’s 
voice bless the people whom the Lord had given him 
in'his youth. The deed was done ; and all eyes gushed 
out in tears ; all hearts throbbed in grief. 

Ah, the pastoral tie ! few know how close, how dear 
it is. We indeed see, day by day, that it seems lightly 
severed. But ah ! the records of the Great Day alone 
will reveal all secrets. Deal gently with thy brother. 
Poverty and a hard struggle, the wants of a little fam- 
ily, that have mouths to be fed and bodies to be cloth- 
ed, — a slender pittance, — these are, after all, the great 
secret; a secret that contains more than we care to 
dwell upon. But this consideration weighed not with 
Mr. Lovegood. We merely throw out the remark, in 
passing. He acted upon convictions of duty. Hone 
condemned him. His parishioners, while bathed in 
tears, conceded that it was his duty to accept the call. 

Ah, the world is full of change ! There is nothing 
certain here ; nothing for man to fasten his thoughts 


152 


THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 


upon, and say, tliis is real, this is certain, this is abid- 
ing, but his own immortality, and the word and will of 
God. 0 how all things change, and pass away ! We 
move in dreams and shadows. We struggle up the 
stream of life, only to be wafted back on the waves of 
death. The soul only is real ; it lives on forever. A 
few more changes, a few more years, and the evening 
will come, and we shall have gone to our long home. 
And then what will it boot us, what we have been on 
earth, — whether poor or rich, high or low, noble or 
ignoble, learned or ignorant. What will it boot us, 
whether we have had a hard struggle, have trod a 
thorny, rugged way, been pierced with sorrows and 
disappointments, or heart-chafings, or buffeted, or neg- 
lected, or despised, or cast on the wide world, without 
friend to soothe and pity, or the loving hand of mercy 
to extend relief, or the pitying heart to solace and con- 
sole ? What boots it, whether we shall have lived in 
ease or luxury, or been popular, or left our mark upon 
our age, or our “ track upon the sands of time,” or been 
caressed, or great, or set our name high upon the :^ock 
of Immortality ? what, we say, will it all be to us, when 
that evening shall come, and we shall wrap our wind- 
ing-sheet about us, and go forth unto the realities of the 
eternal world ? 

A few more years of change, gliding into eternity, 
and the record will be written up (change will be over, 
to us all) in the book of life or death, and revealed in 
the light of that day, which none of all flesh shall es- 
cape. O then to be clothed with the white robes of the 
Son of God, will be our joyous preparation for that glo- 
rious Temple where the Lamb dwelleth, and whose 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


163 


light shall bathe ns in its effalgence, as we shout our 
acclamation, “ All hail ! ye angelic hosts, and ye just 
men made perfect ! All hail ! ye worlds of light and 
purity ! All hail ! eternity, with full, abounding love !” 
and we shall hear that thHlling sentence, for which we 
have waited long, “ Come, ye blessed, enter into the joy 
of your Lord.” 




154 


THE BLEMMEBTONS; OB, 


CHAPTER XII. 

A DASH OF PBETENCE. PABOCHIAL TBOUBLES. MB. LOVE- 

good’s fibst sebmon in ST. ’s. 

The Blemmertons were among the first to greet Mr. 
Lovegood on his entering upon his new duties. “ They 
rejoiced that he had accepted the call, and that the 
Chm-ch had been so fortunate as to secure the services 
of so eminent a man.” Mr. Blemmerton, especially, 
feared, from the tone of Mr. Lovegood’s letter to him, 
that he could not be induced to leave Heartfulville. 
‘‘ And yet,” said he, “ I was not without hope, that you 
would embrace the opportunity of leaving the scene of 
so many trials. I have for years been conversant with 
the state of things in your parish ; and I know that you 
have had a great deal to contend with ; and truly re- 
joice that at last you are free.” 

ISTow Mr. B. had of late picked up an old story or 
two, which had for years been forgotten or become ob- 
solete ; but they were fresh to him, and important items 
in the catalogue of his notes. A few of them he wished 
to canvass, by way of sounding Mr. Lovegood’s theo- 
logical tendencies. But he was not fast enough for 
Mrs. Blemmerton ; who, taking up his observation, re- 
marked : ‘‘ Is it true, Mr. Lovegood, that Mr. Flunks, 
one of your Yestrymen, gave Dr. Thrasher, the Meth- 
odist preacher, permission, in your absence, to preach 
a funeral sermon in your church?” “I believe. 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 155 

Madam, that such a thing occurred a number of years 
ago ; but it has been so long, that the particulars have 
Reaped my memory.” ‘‘Well, we heard it, and thought 
it very strange. We heard, moreover, that the Eev. 
Mr. Churchman was officiating for you, and was in the 
pulpit when the funeral cortege arrived at the church, 
and that Dr. Thrasher was highly indignant that he did 
not descend from the pulpit at once, and give place to 
him ; that, moreover, he made a great many ill-natured 
remarks, alleging, among other things, that the great- 
grandfather of the deceased had contributed towards 
the building of that church, and it was exceedingly 
uncharitable to prohibit his descendant from having a 
funeral sermon preached over her remains from that 
pulpit.” 

Mr. Lovegood was indisposed to converse on such a 
topic. He said that something of the kind had occur- 
red years ago ; but he took no part in it, except to con- 
demn Mr. Flunks, for granting so extraordinary a privi- 
lege. He believed, moreover, that a sharp controversy 
had been carried on between the aforesaid Dr. Thrasher 
and others, about the rights of Methodists and others, 
to the use of our churches and churchyards for their 
rites of sepulture and funeral sermons, on the score 
that their forefathers had been members of the Church, 
and had aided in building the church in Heartfulville. 
But he was happy to state, that the Church was better 
understood in Heartfulville than at that day, and all 
such disputations and contentions had subsided a num- 
ber of years ago. 

Mr. and Mrs. Blemmerton thought it a strange affair ! 
But the world is full of strange events and adventures. 


166 THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 

A thing called Puseyism had of late sprung up, that 
troubled them not a little ; and they wondered whether 
it extended as far back as to the date of that old quar- 
rel in Heartfulville. They hoped to have the pleasure 
of hearing Mr. Lovegood preach as their pastor, on the 
next Sunday. They had no doubt they should be 
highly pleased and edified. Expressing a strong desire 
that Mr. Lovegood would visit them often, and make 
himself entirely at home at their house, they took their 
departure. 

Mr. Lovegood entered on his official duties, on the 
following Sunday ; and, as his sermon was published at 
the time, we give it to the reader. It was entitled^ 
“ The Pastoral Call and Duty,” from the text. Acts x. 
29 : “ Therefore came I unto you without gainsaying, 
as soon as I was sent for : I ask therefore for what in- 
tent ye have sent for me.” 

Love is the primary principle and motive of the 
Gospel. God loved us, and sent His Son into the world 
to redeem us, and to instruct us, by a revelation of His 
will, through which He hath “ brought life and immor- 
tality to light.” And it pleased the Son, in revealing 
this will to us, to found, in His love, a Kingdom, which 
He termed His Spouse, His Body, His Church, “ the 
fulness of Him that filleth all in all,” in and through 
which He manifests His mercy to the race of Adam 
fallen, having sanctified it by His own blood, and holi- 
ness, and the gifts of the Holy Ghost, by Him sent to 
be the Sanctifier of the ways of Sion, and of the means 
of grace, instituted by Himself for the world’s healing, 
and for our calling, election, and sealing, unto the day 
when we shall be gathered into glory. 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 157 

Hence the Gospel, taken in all its parts, is a system 
of instrumentalities and agencies, every one of which 
centres in love. The Bible, the Church, the Christian 
Priesthood, the Holy Sacraments, — the one to com- 
mence life, the other to carry it on, — and prayer and 
praise, and Confirmation, and the employments of the 
Sanctuary : these all are so many means of grace, 
channels of mercy, through which the Lord vouchsafes 
to us His blessings. Conspicuous among all these 
means of grace and instrumentalities of the Lord’s 
vouchsafement, stands the “ ministry of reconciliation.” 
Earthen vessels, indeed, they are, yet hath it pleased 
the Lord to grant and appoint, that through their min- 
istrations mankind should be admitted into the folds 
of the Church, and taught the way of righteousness, 
that they might have a right unto the “ Tree of Life,” 
whose fruits possess an immortal virtue. 

Such an instrument in the Lord’s hands was the Apos- 
tle Peter. Such instruments are all, at the present day, 
in their several lots, who fill a part in the same Chris- 
tian Priesthood, whether they be Bishops, Priests, or 
Deacons. 

A heathen, who had loved righteousness and sought 
the light with all his heart, by earnest devotion, and 
from whose darkened mind it had pleased the Lord to 
lift the veil that shut out the sunlight of His will, was 
directed what to do, in order that he and his family 
might be saved. “ Thy prayers and thine alms are 
come up for a memorial before God. And now send 
men to Joppa, and call for one Simon, whose surname 
is Peter : he shall tell thee what thou oughtest to do.” 
Co:’nelius was obedient to the heavenly vision, and sent 


158 THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 

for the Apostle, who, when he arrived, as a man intent 
on his mission, full of a sense of duty, burning with a 
love of souls, and with zeal for the cause of his Master, 
proceeded at once to the subject-matter in hand. Act- 
ing for God, acting for man, in the absorbing question 
of salvation ; holding an embassy from the King of 
Heaven : these are awful trusts, tremendous responsi- 
bilities, requiring a prompt decision, immediate hear- 
ing, resolute prosecution. 

Therefore, the Apostle delayed not to enter upon his 
work. “Ye have called me unto you,” he said ; “ I 
have obeyed the call without delay, without question- 
ing, as soon as I was sent for : I ask, therefore, for what 
intent ye have sent for me ?” 

The motive of Cornelius was, that he might learn 
what he ought to do, in order to salvation. Doubt- 
less yours was the same. And with Cornelius you are 
ready to exclaim : “ Thou hast well done that thou 
art come. Kow therefore are we all here present 
before God, to hear all things that are commanded thee 
of God.” 

The light of the glorious Gospel hath penetrated 
every hamlet, town, and village in this great land. It 
beams around you, and shines out unto you, from the 
pages of Divine Kevelation. It is not then, so much 
that you need to be told, like Cornelius what you must 
do to be saved, but how you must do it. Your want 
was that of the kindly pastoral office ; not simply to 
instruct, but also to guide and counsel, to throw the 
loving ann around the little ones, to go in and out 
among you, carrying the words of love, and life, and 
consolation; now cheering you in well-doing; then 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 159 

solacing in sorrow; mingling together sunshine and 
tears, and so building you up in soundness of faith and 
holiness of heart, “ till we all come in the unity of the 
faith, and of the knowledge of the Son of God, unto a 
perfect man, unto the measure of the stature of the ful- 
ness of Christ.” 

You are not to hear, for the first time, that “ Faith 
cometh by hearing, and hearing by the "Word of God 
nor, “ How shall they call on Him in whom they have 
not believed ? And how shall they believe in Him of 
whom they have not heard ? And how shall they hear 
without a preacher? And how shall they preach 
except they be sent ?” You are not to be told for the 
first time of Christ crucified ; of the awful doctrines of 
the Incarnation and Atonement; of Justification by 
Faith, which kills us to sin and dead works, and makes 
alive unto the law of good works in Christ ; of Baptism 
and the Supper of the Lord ; of the Church and Min- 
istry : all united in one, comprising the Word, the 
Faith, the Ministry and Sacraments, the visible King- 
dom of Christ on earth, with its invisible powers, and 
graces, and helps, set forth in the world for man’s sal- 
vation : in short, all the primary facts of the Gospel 
revelation. These are not for the first time to break 
upon your ears, or enkindle your hearts to songs of 
praise and thanksgiving; for, in them is found the 
motive that prompted you to send for us. It was the 
love of Christ constraining you. You had faith in His 
word and ordinances. You believed, that He had 
appointed an order of men in His Church, and given 
them commission to ‘‘ go into all the world, and preach 
the Gospel unto every creature, baptizing them in the 


160 THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 

name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy 
Ghost,” and that He would he with them unto the 
world’s end. .... 

These all are Gospel motives, wise, holy, good, and 
just. We trust that you have felt them, that you 
have thought upon them, prayed over them, in the 
silent watches of the night, in the routine of daily 
life ; that you have weighed them in all their hear- 
ings upon the soul’s destiny, and been fully actuated by 
them. 

But there are a few mistakes, to which we all are 
liable, on this and kindred topics, against which you 
may well be guarded. A consideration of these will 
open to your reflection some thoughts on what you 
ham not a right to expect of us, and what you home, 

1. You should not expect of us a half-way, one-sided 
statement of Gospel truth ; but to preach Christ, in all 
His fulness, as the Kock of our salvation, as He imparts 
Himself to us, in and through the word and ordinances 
of the Church : this you have a right to expect. The 
proclamation of God’s love to man, which is written in 
the heights and depths, on things visible and invisible, 
from the worlds on high, to the tiny flower that blooms 
at our feet ; and which, from the Incarnation and Cross, 
burst out in a flood of light and glory that embalmed 
the world, consummated the yearnings and heart- 
breathings of the race of fallen Adam, and fllled the 
measure of type and prophecy, and earth and heaven 
with rejoicings : this great proclamation, we say, is all 
too pure, too holy, too wonderful and excellent, to be 
divided, or frittered away into shreds and tattered rem- 
nants. But, to fill the measure of our needs and long- 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


161 


ings, it is to be presented and received as a whole, 
compacted and knit together, beautiful in its oneness, 
beahtiful in its love and order, transcendently beautiful 
in its sanctification. 

2. IS'or can you expect us to be a mere man-pleaser ; 
a mere suppliant for your favor and good opinion, at 
the hazard of your souls’ eternal weal. This would 
debase us below the dignity of man, not to say of our 
office. But, to please men in things lawful, is no less 
the duty of Chilst’s ambassador, than of all other men. 
And this, we take it, is St. Paul’s meaning, when he 
speaks of becoming all things to all men. He certainly 
did not mean, that he wore a mask, and that his life was 
merely a drama of hypocritical masquerading ; nay, but 
that he adapted himself, in things lawful, to the predi- 
lections of his fellow-men. But in things unlawful, he 
yielded, — no, not one jot nor tittle; but stood as a 
“ beaten anvil.” He drew around him the great gar- 
ment of holiness, in which he was clad. Nothing in- 
tervened between him and duty to the cause he had 
espoused. Hence, to please men in things lawful is a 
duty, springing out of the Gospel, and its sanctifying 
civilization. 

To be complaisant, amiable, gentle, easily entreated, 
ready to forgive, kindly and genial unto all orders and 
degrees of men, are beautiful and becoming traits in 
the character of the Christian gentleman. But to be 
truckling, time-serving, and shrinking, to proclaim 
simply “ smooth things,” to dally with the sins and sin- 
fulness of men, publish a half-way Gospel, cry peace, 
when there is no peace ; to insist on a moderate, medium 
piety, and strictness of life, that dare not lift their head 


162 THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 

above the world’s skeleton standard of morality ; to be 
merely a fashionable, fastidious, sentimental, dandyizing 
proclaimer of the Divine Word, dealing in the beauties 
of rhetoric and flowing graces of poesy, beating the air, 
and merely generalizing on the chief topics of Gospel 
truth : ah, let it never be named, as becoming the ofiice 
of him who speaks with Christ’s authority, and the 
sanctity of the temple where the Lord hath set His 
name, and where He will be sanctified and glorified in 
all who come nigh to Him. 

3. Every community has its peculiarities, or what 
may be termed its peculiar phases or traits of sin, in 
short-comings, in works, or in words. Man is, indeed, 
a sinner, and alike in sinfulness the world over. But 
what we mean is, that in every community, among 
every people, there will be found some peculiar type of 
failing, of sinfulness, in doing or not doing, in positives 
or negatives, over and above every other type, amount- 
ing to a characteristic. It may spring out of settled 
habit, or fashion, or neglect, until from usage it has 
grown popular, and so is lost sight of, in the general 
whirl of the excitements of business, or pleasure, or 
amusement. Still it is there; it exists, crippling our 
energies in the Christian life, and dwarfing us in spirit- 
uality. And ever and anon it springs out from its 
hiding-place, and is seen and felt, as it sows sorrow, and 
draws tears after it in its wake. 

Against whatever short-comings of this character 
may be peculiar among you, you will surely need to be 
warned and guarded. For they are of a very insidious 
character ; slow, stealthy, secret in their approaches and 
insinuations, but inevitable in their disastrous results, if 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


163 


they are left to canker in the heart, or prey upon the 
vitals of our spiritual life. These are, indeed, the 
thieves of our spiritual existence and growth ; the small 
commonplace, trifling sins, as some are pleased to term 
them ; such as hasty anger, and cursing, pride, and 
emulation, and bitterness of feeling, and strife, and 
tattling, and scandal, overweaning regard to the world’s 
fashions and pastimes, conventional formalities, and the 
like. These, we say, are like the thief unto the flock at 
night, and steal away our spiritual life and strength, 
while we are asleep or dallying with our dreams. 

On all these topics you may not expect us to speak 
in uncertain language, or deal in vague and dubious 
generalities. If we are to combat with the world, the 
flesh, and the devil ; if these are the foes over whom we 
are to triumph, winning the crown of immortal glory, 
or bearing off spoils of priceless value ; then it must 
needs be, that we strike home blows on solid matter, 
and that we stand in our lot, girded about with faith, 
“ looking unto Jesus, the author and flnisher of our 
faith. Who, for the joy that was set before Him, 
endured the cross, despising the shame, and is set down 
at the right hand of the throne of God.” 

4. Hor should you expect us to assume merely the 
Shibboleth of party, in our teachings or counsels. From 
the days of the Apostles, indeed, there have been 
sharpnesses and conflicts in the Church, and differences 
in opinion, and shades of opinion, sometimes on ques- 
tions indifferent, more frequently on such as are serious 
and fundamental, lying at the very foundations of the 
faith. But the faith has been kept intact, and has been 
transmitted to us. And an age of disquietude and agi- 


164 : THE BLEMMEETONS; OE, 

tation in the Church is not, necessarily, an age of 
unsoundness. Nay, it may be, and doubtless for the 
most part is, a more pregnant sign of life. To this 
truth the mediaeval ages witness. It was at no tempest- 
tossed epoch of the Church, that the truth was over- 
laid or smothered with error, (in any branch of the 
Church,) but when she was freest from agitation, when 
she was lulled into repose. "What has been true of the 
great empires that have flourished, and died out, has 
also, in degree, been found true of the Church. Rome, 
for instance, was not shattered and laid in the dust, 
while “ her conquering arms shook the world but 
when she became luxurious, easy, careless ; when she 
wrapped herself in her fancied greatness, and fell asleep, 
dreaming over her glories and security. Tlien it was, 
that her well-springs were sapped, and she burst asun- 
der, and died out, leaving but the glimmering light of 
a meteor across the hemisphere of her greatness. 

It is true, the analogy cannot hold in all its parts ; 
for the Church has an undying life. She may sufier 
from ease or indifierence, or fancied security ; she may 
sufier from false doctrine, or from needless agitation ; 
she may sufier for want of agitation and trial, to draw 
out and develop her powers ; or she may be torn by 
fierce conflicts, even unto martyrdom ; but she has 
recuperative powers. She cannot die out, she must 
survive all shocks. The Lord rules her, and in her; 
and against her the gates of hell can never prevail. 

While, therefore, we would eschew controversy, for 
the sake of controversy, we are far from thinking it 
always an evil. Like any other good, it is good in its 
place, and bad out of it. By it, ti’uth is elicited and 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 165 

eliminated ; and we are built up in soundness of faith 
and knowledge. On the other hand, when it is prose- 
cuted with acrimony, in an unchastened, unloving 
spirit, it is an evil ; and is to be guarded against, with 
a jealous care and watchfulness. But controversy for 
truth’s sake, and partizanship in the Church, are quite 
distinct ; not, indeed, always in practice, but certainly 
always in theory. The one, when pursued in a right 
spirit, leads to conviction of the truth, to enlight- 
enment ; the other simply tends to draw a film over the 
mental eye, and to close it in blindness. The one has 
watered the Church, as with the dews of heaven, from 
the days of our Lord and His Apostles, who were the 
greatest champions in controversy for the truth that the 
Church or the world ever beheld, and out of whose 
loving contentions with false doctrine have sprung as 
many disciples and saints as the stars of heaven in 
number, who have glorified God in their lives, and do 
now rest in Paradise. The other has crossed the heart, 
warped and blighted the natural affections, done despite 
to the Spirit of grace and glory, taught one to say, “ I 
am of Paul,” another, “ I am of Apollos,” until the 
robe of Christ is rent, and the enemy of souls revels in 
his hiding-place ; and his hoarse laugh, in solemn 
mockery, rings through the earth. 

While, then, we shall not disregard the great ques- 
tions of the day, nor close our eyes against the fact, that 
this is a self-sufficient age ; that there is a radical spirit 
abroad, which threatens the very citadel of our hopes, 
and which, in its rationalizing unbelief, would tear the 
diadem from the brow of Jesus of Hazareth, reeking 
afresh with gore, and trample the volume of revealed 


166 THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 

Truth in the dust ; you may not expect us, in our teach- 
ings of the great facts of Christianity, the doctrines of 
the faith revealed from heaven, for man’s salvation, to 
assume any mere party badge or dictum. But, rais- 
ing the standard of the Cross high above every aim, 
every wish, but that which centres in a love of Christ 
and the Church, as that Cross is revealed in Holy Writ, 
and amplified in all the teachings of the Church, in her 
Prayer-Book, Articles, Offices, and Homilies ; in their 
plain, common sense, unvarnished letter and spirit, aid- 
ed thereunto by the light of the early day of the Gospel, 
which comes to us through those worthies of old, the 
Christian Fathers, a “long and glittering line,” who, 
through tribulation and travail, and stripes, and watch- 
ings, and prayers, and self-denials, preserved the faith 
pure and unmixed with aught of error, and transmitted 
it to us : this shall be our aim. More than this we 
cannot promise ; neither more nor less than this can 
you expect : this, by the Lord’s help, we will fulfil. 

The day for disputing on questions of mere opinion 
has passed away. Other and weightier matters demand 
our consideration. The Church has entered on a new 
era ; an era, it is true, of strife, brought about, as is 
most usual, by a pressure from without. We have a 
mighty foe to meet and combat, who, though lurking in 
secret places for long years, has yet been gathering 
strength and maturing plans. His banner is now un- 
furled. His legions are in the field : we are already in 
the strife, arid are called to press our armor close about 
us, and to draw our weapons, well-pointed, and with 
certain aim. 

This foe is Infidelity ; not simply practical unbelief. 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 167 

but bold, defiant Deism, which strikes at the citadel ; 
which, as a vampire, would suck out the life of our 
most holy faith, would wrest from man the rich heritage 
of the glorious Gospel of Christ, and leave him a wreck, 
without chart or compass, to be thrust out on the wide 
ocean of eternity, without cheer and without hope. 

This is our great work : it is a powerful pressure from 
without, consolidating our strength and powers, shut- 
ting our eyes against every question of minor considera- 
tion. The time has come, when we must stand by our 
first principles, as watchmen on the walls of Sion, giv- 
ing warning of danger, and calling the faithful and 
valiant unto the Lord’s battle. Unto this work, then, 
are we called. And from him that shall be true shall 
no good thing be withholden ; to him that overcometh 
shall be given to eat of “ the Tree of Life.” hTo efibrt 
of ours, however small, no labor of love or self-denial, 
no fierce confiict with the enemy, no deed of charity or 
sympathy, no crucifying of the fiesh and the spirit, shall 
ever be forgotten of our Heavenly Father. The Lord 
will write up the history at the last, and “ from the 
open volume of the Book of Life,” and in “ the full 
blaze of the Judgment Day,” will He crown us for all 
we do, or sufier, or endure, in this great conflict for His 
Hame’s sake. 


You do not like that sermon. The chronicler cannot 
help it. His duty is merely to record facts. He has 
nothing to say for or against the sermon ; and if asked 
why he threw it in here, he answers, because it is a part 
of his story. It forms a link in the chain of events be- 


168 THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 

fore him. If you are not pleased, he merely regrets it. 
It is a matter-of-fact production, from a matter-of-fact 
man ; and, for aught that I know, teaches wholesome 
truths in a straight-forward way. Mr. Lovegood always 
preached to his parishioners ; not to mankind in gene- 
ral. And his parishioners rarely mistook his meaning. 
His style was not to address the world ; saying “ they” 
did so and so, or ‘‘ they” were wrong in this or that ; 
hut “ you,” the veritable people before him, “ you” are 
wrong in this or that, — “ you” do so and so. 

There is, we opine, too much of this generalizing ; 
too little of distinct, plain, straight-forward teaching, 
whether of the distinctive doctrines of the Church, or 
the practical duties of the Christian life. If we wish to 
convince our congregations of the sin of worldliness, or 
mammon-worship, or sins of the tongue, or niggardli- 
ness in supporting the Church, why not tell them so at 
once, point their sin distinctly out to them, make them 
feel that we are preaching to them, and not at sins as 
they prevail in the world ? “ They” do so and so, and 

“ the world” does so and so, and “ the world” does very 
wrong, or “ they” do very wickedly. This is all very 
well, perchance; and our congregations will accord 
that “ they” and “ the world” are very bad ; and they 
will be not a whit better. It is all indefinite ; it has an 
unreal, impracticable sound. This is a practical age ; 
and mankind need to be met on their own grounds. If 
you wish them to take what you say, to themselves per- 
sonally, you must apply it. Men have not time to do 
this for themselves. 

Still you do not like that sermon ; nor did Mr. and 
Mrs. Blemmerton, nor Mrs. Fussy, nor Mrs. Hochurch, 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


169 


nor Mrs. Fastidious, nor ‘‘the rest” of them, to use 
Mr. Blemmerton’s language. But, perhaps they object- 
ed to it, for a different reason. It is impossible to sat- 
isfy all tastes in such a matter. Perhaps, had it been 
more agreeable to your wishes, to them it would have 
been still more unsatisfactory ; or had it pleased you 
less, it would have been to them perfection itself. 

8 


lYO 


THE BLEMMEKTONS; OE, 


CHAPTER XIIL 

THE GEANTNERS. REVELATION. FAMILY TRIALS. 

Bath, situated in Somersetsliire, England, about a 
hundred and ten miles west of London, in a beautiful 
valley, through which sweeps the river Avon, is said to 
be the best built town, and one of the most attractive 
in our mother-land. It is a town of antiquity, but be- 
came important, in comparatively modern times, on ac- 
count of its mineral springs. And for many years it 
has been a noted summer resort, and the permanent 
residence of numbers of the wealthy and higher classes. 

Here, in days gone by, dwelt Bichard and Jane 
Grantner. Richard Grantner had been a prosperous 
merchant in London, and a man of prominence in the 
commercial enterprises of that great city ; but, having 
amassed a large property, he retired from business, and 
selected the beautiful town of Bath, as the home of his 
declining days. Devoted members of the Church of 
England, living for the good of man and the glory of 
God, this pious couple descended to the tomb, leaving 
after them a memory which yet lives, in the traditions 
that have come down from their day ; and the genera- 
tions that succeeded them yet rise up and call them 
blessed. 

In a fast age, forty or fifty years seem a long time for 

the memory of the just to be blessed.” Ah, how soon 
are the pious, the holy, forgotten ! Even the tombs that 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 171 

contain their sacred dust, the consecrated ground that 
holds their ashes, how are they rudely assaulted, or 
desecrated by the grasping hand of this money-seeking, 
mnmmon-worshipping age ! There is no time to dwell 
on the past. The past is slow. Throw over the mantle 
of obliviousness, sound the whistle, ring the bell, give 
us steam, we must away, — away ! There is no time for 
rest, for reflection, for meditation ; no time to look up 
towards eternity, to count the sands of life, as one by 
one they drop from our hour-glass. No : no time. Talk 
to us about the present ; the past is obsolete, the future 
is in the womb. The present, that is ours ; om^s for 
gain, for pleasure, for excitement, for gold. Give us 
gold, or we die. Ah, we live in an earnest age about 
every thing of time ; but, alas ! we are not in earnest 
about eternity. We want the spirit of the nobleman 
who, from the depths of his soul, cried out, “ Sir, come 
down ere my child die.” John iv. 49. Here we see 
the real man’s heart, not in any half-way work, but 
whole-souled, gushing and running out in deed and in 
truth. 

And is it not ever so with man, when he undertakes 
a work that he intends to accomplish ? Kun your eye 
through all the avenues of life, and see if you cannot 
point out the men who are going to succeed in their 
undertakings ; and who are they but your earnest men ? 
They who lay their shoulders to the burden, who go to 
work with spirit, and help themselves along by their 
own indomitable efforts ? All men are ready to help 
them who help themselves. But take a mere drone ; 
one who trifles, dilly-dallies with his work, goes at it 
half asleep, half awake ; who moves along as though 


172 THE BLEMMEKTONS; OE, 

he aimed at nothing, expected to accomplish no- 
thing ; and what is he set down to be worth ? Jnst 
nothing. He is accounted a trifler. Ho one is will- 
ing to incur the risk of helping him. There is no 
time for experiments. He has no credit in the world. 
His note in the money market is no better than a piece 
of blank paper. It is so the world over. Men have 
keen sharp eyes everywhere, and a mere trifler is 
worth nothing. He is of less account in this fast age, 
than the airy bubble which the boy blows from his pipe, 
and which dances awhile in the air, reflecting the sun- 
light, and then bursts asunder and is gone ; for that af- 
fords some childish pastime and amusement. But, a 
mere trifler cannot lay claim even to that. 

This you say, is ti’ue. And yet we see not that we 
need the same deep earnestness in spiritual things. We 
are dying, and our sons and our daughters are dying. The 
plague is rife among us. We must arouse from our 
pleasing dreams. Our perishing souls must be held up 
before us, sickening and dying for the healing medi- 
cine w^hich Christ alone can give, and which He hath 
commissioned His Church to dispense. But, alas ! we 
will not have it ; we will not cry out for it. And yet 
the day of the Lord cometh ; the night is approaching, 
in which no work may be done. The Apostle hath 
written, For that day shall not come, except there 
come a falling away first.” 2 Thess. ii. 3. 

Ah, this is an awful prophecy ; and how is it fulfil- 
ling at the present day ! What a lamentable departure 
do we behold from the faith, as with one heart and 
mouth it was held and professed in the early Church ! 
And O, how sadly have men, called Christian, become 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 173 

lovers of themselves rather than of God ! Some deny the 
divinity of the Son of God ; some, the Sacraments of 
His appointment; some, the unity of the Church; 
some, the endless punishment of the wicked, forgetting 
that in the nature of the ease, the character formed in 
this life must endure forever. Some reject all myste- 
ries ; others cannot have mysteries enough without 
nianufactmdng them. Some have itching ears, and run 
after the fables of heresy and schism. Some profess 
without practice. Is it a word of theory ? How many 
listen to it gladly ! Is it a word of correction and re- 
proof? How many turn away from it and harden their 
hearts ! Give us smooth things, they say ; delectable 
diet for the mind. Let us not hear of the rigors of re- 
pentance, or strictness of life, or soundness in the faith. 
Every man must go to heaven in his own way. Do 
not all men act so in the things of this life ? Would 
you tie every man to your notions ? Ho : we will he 
free. Give us not teaching ; but tickle our fancies. We 
have not time for prosy dogmatizing ; it is too slow for 
us. Give us pretty prayers, and pretty preaching. 
Abuse sin as much as you choose ; but let us alone. It 
is not applicable to us. Let us dream on, sleep on ; 
our dreaming is sweet ; our sleep is glorious. Sound 
not in our ears that terrible sentence, ‘‘ Awake, thou 
that steepest !” And so, as the Apostle foretold, there 
is a falling away. 

The world called Christian is rocked in a cradle of 
ease, and, like a sleeping infant, is fretful when it is 
aroused. Let us sleep on, rock on. Sing to us a lullaby. 
Give us soft music and gentle whispers. But the blast 
of the trumpet will come, and that lullaby will be over; 


174 : THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 

the dream, past and gone. “ Awake, thou that steep- 
est, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give thee 
light.” “ The night is far spent, the day is at hand.” 

Eichard and Jane Grantner had but two children, a 
son and a daughter, who succeeded to the fortune of 
the father. Mary Grantner, at the death of her father, 
who outlived his wife but a few years, was a sprightly 
flaxen-haired girl of ten years of age. Her brother 
Eichard was her senior by twelve years. On the death 
of the father, the management of his estate devolved on 
Eichard, who was also by the father’s will the guardian 
of his sister, Mary. 

After the first sharp affliction of the death of the 
last of his parents had measurably subsided, Eichard 
Grantner placed his sister at a reputable school, at 
Cheltenham, conducted by the venerable Dr. Gnout. 
Here, the youthful Mary grew up, under the watchful 
eye of her preceptor and his excellent family. Dr. 
Gnout had grown gray in the service of training the 
daughters of England ; and many are the venerable 
matrons that now adorn the English Church and the 
‘‘ doctrine of God their Saviour,” who reverence the 
memory of this noble man, and sanctify it in the eyes 
of their children. Every good influence, every holy ex- 
ercise was here brought to bear on the youthful mind and 
heart, to expand and train them for time and eternity. 

In the bosom of this pious family had Mary Grant- 
ner grown to woman’s estate. For eight years, she had 
been accustomed to look up to Dr. Gnout as her father, 
and to his venerable lady as a mother. His children 
were as her own brothers and sisters. But now the 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 175 

time has arrived when these ties must he broken. The 
young must, by an absolute necessity, go forth into the 
world, to shape, under God’s overruling providence, a 
destiny for themselves. Richard Grantner was expected 
the next morning, to convey her to her childhood’s 
home, to meet, for the first time, the strange faces that 
lighted up her father’s old mansion. Richard had been 
married for some years ; and now the old halls rang 
again with the meiTy music of laughing voices and 
prattling tongues. 

Tliat night, at an earlier hour than usual, Mary retired 
to her chamber. Her heart was full, too full to enjoy 
the society of her kind friends. Indeed, a heavy gloom 
seemed to pervade all countenances, in that hitherto 
happy family ; for Mary was a universal favorite, and 
loved by all the family as a daughter and sister ; and 
there, in her own quiet chamber, she knelt before her 
God, and poured out her soul in prayer for strength and 
grace to meet her lot in life, and now to go forth into 
the world no more a girl, but a woman, to fulfil a 
woman’s duty, and move in that sphere of usefulness 
which seemed about to open before her. 

Ah ! sorrow is the portion of all hearts here below, 
especially of those who bear the cross. Unto it were 
they baptized when they were “made members of 
Christ, children of God, and inheritors of the Kingdom 
of Heaven.” They were baptized into the sufferings 
and sorrows of the Son of Man, that they might also 
be partakers of His joys and crown of glory. We 
would not dry the tears of the young girl who is about 
to go out into the world to meet its realities, and espe- 
cially of Mary Grantnei’ ; for there is yet a mightier 


176 


THE BLEMMEETONS; OR, 


sorrow before her. She had been in her room more 
than an hour, when the arrival of her brother was 
announced ; and she would have hasted down to meet 
him. But, before she could assuage her tears, he clasp- 
ed her in his arms in her room ; and they wept together 
in joy and sorrow, and mingled their teara in one. 

Drawing her to a seat, he said to her : “ Mary, I have 
sad news for you ; not, however, so much for you as for 
myself ; but I know that what concerns me, will also 
concern you.” “ Oh, brother, do tell me what it is. I 
hope that my dear sister, whom yet I have never seen, 
but whom I love for your sake, I hope nothing has hap- 
pened to her or your sweet little Bessy and Bob. I 
have been so sad all day, that my heart has been near 
breaking.” 

“ No, my dear sister, nothing of that sort. Bessy, 
and Bob, and dear Maggie, all are well. But, Mary, 
your brother is a ruined man. You know, Mary, that 
I have never been able to say ‘ No that I have always 
felt obliged to do all the good that I could ; that I 
could never endure to see one of our friends or relatives 
stand in need of a helping hand, without stepping for- 
ward to his aid. Cousin Bobert, you know, was driving 
a large business in London ; and, for the last six years, 
I have been in the habit of giving him my name and 
becoming security for him. Kobert has failed, and I 
am penniless. I do not censure him. He is as honest 
a man as the world can produce. I had, you know, 
unbounded confidence in him ; and my confidence does 
not swerve a hair’s breadth. But, he has failed through 
the failure of others, and I am a beggar. All my 
property will not pay half my liabilities for him.” 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 177 

“Brother, this is indeed sad news, but my heart is 
lightened of a heavy burden. Our happiness does not 
depend on wealth. We can be as happy in poverty as 
in wealth. We cannot, indeed, do so much good, but 
so much will not be required of us.” 

“ My sweet sister, you are to me like another angel 
of mercy. My own dear Maggie consoles me in the 
same way. I know it is right ; and I bless God for 
giving me grace to bear my trial, and for cheering me 
with two such godly and sympathizing friends and com- 
panions as you and my own Maggie. With your sym- 
pathy and encouragement, I feel that I can breast the 
wave. But ah me! how can I stagger through that 
overwhelming debt, or see the name of old Eichard 
Grantner dishonored in London, where it passes as the 
sign-manual of all that is upright and honorable.” 

“The name of Eichard Grantner shall not be dis- 
honored, so long as I have a cent on the earth. I would 
beg my daily bread first !” 

“ God bless you, my sister ! But it will take every 
dollar we both are worth, to meet my liabilities for 
Cousin Eobert.” 

“Take it, then. And if that will not suffice, here 
is my jewelry. ISTever, never shall the name you 
bear be dishonored, if I can save it. Poverty is no 
disgrace ; and I welcome it, if on such terms it is to 
come.” 

“ But ah, my noble sister, I must insist on your not 
making such a sacrifice. Your property is all secure. 
And you must not beggar yourself on my account. I 
can bufiet it through the world. But you I can never 
bear to see brought to so hard a struggle, for my sake. 

8 «- 


178 THE BLEMMEKTONS; OR, 

You have never yet buffeted your way in the rude 
world. ISTo, sister, I love you too well.’’ 

“ Ah, you do not know me. It is true, I have never 
known a want. But, I am a woman ; and your name 
and fame are dearer to me than dollars and cents. 
Perish the thought ! I know it will be a sore trial to 
us both, to see our dear old homestead and all our 
father’s toils go into the hands of others. But what do 
you suppose he would do ? Ah, I know full well. And 
if, in Paradise, he can know aught of earth, my deed 
will have his approbation. ISTo, I can meet all. Fear 
not for me. If need be, I can come to toil, yea, drudgery 
and poverty, any thing but disgrace on our father’s 
name. This is the lesson he taught us, when his locks 
were silvered over ; this the milk which we drew from 
the breasts of our sainted mother ; this the loving teach- 
ing which, for eight years, I have received beneath this 
hallowed roof. And I will be true to it. I will not 
forsake you, brother. Y'our lot shall be mine. And if 
you love me, say no more in opposition to my course.” 

In a twelvemonth, the magnificent estate of the 
Grantners was gone. The debt of their Cousin Kobert 
was liquidated, and a few hundred pounds remained. 
In the spring of 18 — , Eichard Grantner, his wife, 
two children, and sister Mary, bade farewell to their 
native isle, and sailed in a packet-ship from Liverpool 
to the ISTew World of enterprise and activity. 

Mary Grantner became the wife of William Wallace, 
and is the veritable mother of that little Agnes whom 
we met under the lamp, and whose story has entered 
into our former pages. We are writing from life. And 
life, as we have said before, runs often in crooked paths. 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


11 ^ 


And we have seen that Mary Grantner met her pledge. 
We have not dwelt on all her story. There is a chasm 
between her marriage and the evening that we found 
her in that paneless upper story. Over this we pass, as 
it is not the main part of our design to give her history. 
But she fulfilled her high pledge to her brother. She 
met toil, and drudgery, and poverty, without murmur- 
ing, believing that it came from God, blessing the hand 
that sent it, and looking up to Him for strength to bear 
whatsoever He sent. 

A sister’s endurance, a mother’s love : ah ! there is 
nothing like these on the earth. Treasure them, who^ 
ever thou art that hast them. They are jewels, always 
bright and' sparkling, but most so when our days are 
dark and friends are few. Hobody loves us as our 
mother. Ho one sympathizes with us as our sister. 

Ah me ! I had a sister once, but she is gone ; the 
tall grass waves over her grave ; her pure spirit dwells 
in the Paradise of God. She died, leaving two babes, 
two innocent little cherubs, but two years apart in age. 
They never knew their mother. A frail, youthful, and 
lovely flower : oh, how soon was she nipt by the icy 
hand of death ! And those little babes are now a prat- 
tling boy and girl ; but they know not their uncle. They 
water the flowers over their mother’s grave ; that is all 
they know of her; she sleeps so quietly there. But 
they yet shall see her and know her. Yes, in their 
Father’s home above, there will be no more death, no 
more parting. Train them. Father, in their Spiritual 
Mother’s bosom, and they will not be long separated. 
They will go to her ; and angels shall introduce them 
to their Mother. Hay, she will know them, for Gqd 


180 THE BLEMMEKTONS; OK, 

hath not given ns affections to be forever blighted. 
No, no, no : “we shall be satisfied, when we awake 
with His likeness.” 

I saw her not in death ; duty called us into different 
spheres and fields. The last time I saw her, the part- 
ing broke my heart. She clung around my neck, bath- 
ing me in tears. I tore myself from her, never more 
to see her in this life. The white-robed priest, a kind, 
good brother, knelt at her side, while her pure spirit 
went to meet its God. “ My brother ! oh, that I could 
see my dear brother!” were among her last words. 
Sleep on, blessed one; thou art in peace, and thy 
brother is yet struggling on, doing our Master’s will. 
In His own good time we shall meet ; and then, the 
time will have been short : “ A thousand years in Tliy 
sight are but as yesterday, seeing that is past as a watch 
in the night.” 

And, then, to be far, far away from home and friends, 
and receive a mother’s letter 1 Ah I there is a joy in 
this which all cannot appreciate. Hear how she writes : 
“ Though you are far from me, I must try to be resigned, 
and commit you all to an all- wise God, who will ever 
be over those who trust in Him alone ; for ‘ vain is the 
help of man,’ and alb things below are unsatisfying. I 
shall try to write more cheerfully, though it would be 
unnatural for me not to feel. And that you will admit, 
and think me more than callous if I could do so ; for 
my thoughts will follow you, not always painting 
scenes that are brightest. A mother will, as long as 
life lasts, fondly cling to her children ; yea, in death. 
It is cold, cold here ; a snow lies on the ground, while, 
no doubt, you have spring weather: some beautiful 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


181 


flowers ont, too, I suspect. Dear , you must press 

me the fli’st pretty bunch, and send it in a letter; I 
will keep it for your sake, and fancy you in the sunny 
South. 

“ Half past twelve o’clock. Ho letters ! sad news 
for me. Still I hope on till to-morrow. But, Sunday 
intervening seems to speak home to the soul ; then all 
week duties are laid aside. The heart holds even a 
nearer and more holy communion with its God ; then, 
if possible, far off and absent ones seem brought nearer. 
When we kneel in prayer, all the loved ones are re- 
membered ; memory is set free from all that is earthly ; 
and then we can bear them more fervently to the throne 
of the Lord in our prayers. Sing, sometimes, the songs 

you used to sing, dear , for me ; and, when spring 

comes, our voices may mingle in the air together. Tell 
me what you’ll sing at a certain hour of the evening, 
and I will sing the same, at the same hour ; though far 
away, there can be communion of thought and feeling. 
You used to love ‘ When the swallows homeward fly.’ 
For your sake I sing it ; and I often think of you, and 
apply many of the words to myself.” 

Ah! our dear mother! It may be she may come 
and see us. Come on, mother, come on ! 


182 


THE BLEMMERTONS; OR 


CHAPTER XIY. 

OLD AUNT JTJDY’s DEATH. THE COLORED POPULATION OF 
THE SOUTH CARED FOR BY THE CHURCH. 

Perhaps, of all his parishioners in Heartfulville, none 
lamented Mr. Lovegood’s departure more than old 
blind Judy, of whom we have casually spoken. Old 
Aunt Judy, as she was commonly called, had been a 
family servant of one of Mr. Lovegood’s early friends 
in Heartfulville, a useful and pious member of the 
Church, whose eyes, Mr. Lovegood, assisted by Aunt 
Judy, had closed in death, some ten years prior to the 
events of which we now speak. 

Upon opening the will of the master, it was discov- 
ered, that he had given Aunt Judy her freedom, and 
had also willed her the house and lot on which she 
resided, and a hundred dollars per annum, as a life 
annuity. He had also willed his freedom to her grand- 
son Jim, whom she was required to support, until he 
was old enough to be of service to her. Hot many 
years elapsed after the death of her master, before 
Aunt Judy was afhicted with blindness. She then 
became helpless, and Mr. Lovegood added to her annu- 
ity such items from the alms of the parish as sufficed for 
her comfortable maintenance. She was remarkable for 
good sense, strong attachments, and gratitude ; and one 
of Mr. Lovegood’s most delightful employments, was to 
sit and converse with this humble old woman. 

Header, be not astonished, when I tell you, that this 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 183 

is not so strange a circumstance as you may imagine. 
Condition, caste, does not raise a barrier insurmounta- 
ble between the pastor and those of the colored race, 
who, at his hands, receive the bread of life. There are 
numbers of devoted clergymen, throughout the South, 
who find great pleasure in ministering to the spiritual 
necessities of the colored race, whose attachments to 
the Church are very strong, ardent, and sincere, when 
they understand her true position. And this they are 
not slow in learning, when the true steps are taken to 
make them acquainted with the Church. 

Old Aunt Judy was a sincere, pious, and sound 
Church woman, for one in her humble life ; she loved 
the Church for Christ’s sake, and could take no comfort 
in any religious service, apart from her own private 
devotions, that was not sanctified by the Church’s order. 
Hence, when Mr. Lovegood resigned the pastoral 
charge at Heartfulville, it filled her with sorrow. But 
she had one consolation : Massa Lovegood had prom- 
ised to come back again on a visit, in the sweet month 
of June, and talk about old times.” This was old 
Aunt Judy’s theme, day and night. And as the spring 
opened, and the birds began to sing, and the flowers to 
burst into bloom, she seemed almost to grow young 
again. And day by day was she led down to the 
deserted study ; for she said she could “ hear Massa 
Lovegood ’s mocking-birds, and she knew they were 
singing for him to come back again.” This was pleas- 
ure enough for her ; and there she would sit, by the 
hour, on the steps at the study door. The days seemed 
long, tedious. Tedious they were to her ; for the blind 
have a monotonous life : nothing but reflection on the 


184 THE BLEMMEKTONS; OR, 

past, and communion with God, is left to them. T1 4 
is indeed full enough. But, flesh and the spirit w d 
grow weary. So, day by day. Aunt Judy patiently 
waited at the study ; day by day, the mocking-birds 
trilled their notes as of old ; day by day, the spirit of 
Aunt Judy grew more and more faint. The children, 
as they passed to and from school, always had a word 
for Aunt Judy, and she for them. 

‘‘ Ah, my child. Aunt Judy knows your voice, but 
she can't see you. ‘ Praise the Lord, O my soul, and 
all that is within me praise His holy name.’ Ah, my 
child, Massa Lovegood taught me that sweet Psalm, 
long time ago. You are Massa D.’s daughter. Yes, I 
know you ; the Lord bless you ! I knew when your 
mother was a little girl like you, and her mother used 
to bring her to see old missus. I could see then ! Ah, 
the old times, the old times !” 

And so the time wore away sadly ; ah, how sadly, 
for poor old Aunt Judy ! It was now the middle of 
June, and Mr. Lovegood had not yet made his promised 
visit to his old parish. One day, as the children passed 
from school, they called, as usual, to Aunt Judy. 
There she sat in the same place, leaning against a 
column of the portico ; but she answered not ; they 
opened the wicker-gate, and went softly in, supposing 
she was asleep ; but ah. Aunt Judy was sleeping the 
sleep of death ! She held in her hand a newly-blown 
rose, which she had plucked from the multiflora that 
bloomed around her seat. She was gone. She had 
grown weary of waiting. Hope deferred maketh the 
heart sick. She had doubtless died, imploring bless- 
ings on her beloved pastor. 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 185 

Mr. Lovegood arrived in Heartfulville the next day ; 
but, be was too late. His old blind alms-pensioner 
was gone to her last, long sleep. Death waits not ; the 
aged gather their funeral robes around them, and they 
are gone. It was a heavy bereavement to Mr. Love- 
good ; for he loved old Aunt Judy, and had cherished 
the anticipations of her cordial greeting. But now he 
should greet her no more, till he met her in that land 
where the blind are restored to sight. Then, together 
they should “ see the King in His beauty !” And he 
wept, as few weep at the death of an humble colored 
woman. There being yet no Eector supplying his 
place, Mr. Lovegood on the next day committed her 
dust to its last resting-place. 

His days in that parish, he said, had run through 
so long a period with that humble servant of the Lord, 
that he could not refrain from improving the occasion, 
to hold up her example to the people of his late charge, 
as one worthy of their imitation. He rejoiced to see 
so much respect paid to departed worth, in the hum- 
blest circumstances of life. It was no ordinary occa- 
sion, that had brought such a concourse of young and 
old, high and low, bond and free, to the Lord’s sanctu- 
ary. It was an evidence that Christian virtues were 
reverenced in the lowly, as well as in the more exalted; 
that the religion of Christ had a moral power and charm 
about it, which all must cherish, however they may fail 
in personal sanctity. The example of that humble 
Christian would live long in the memory of all who 
knew her. “ The memory of the just is blessed “ so 
He giveth His beloved sleep.” “ I heard a voice from 
heaven, saying unto me. Write, from henceforth bless- 


186 THE BLEMMEETONS; OE, 

ed are the dead who die in the Lord : jea, saith the 
Spirit, that they may rest from their labors.” Yea, 
there is no more conflict ; no more fear of the enemy ; 
no more strife with the flesh. They are called up high- 
er. The spirit goes forth to participate in the joys and 
fellowship of the Church Triumphant. There, released 
from every sorrow and anguish of earth, free from 
dread of sin and temptation, the soul lives hut to enjoy 
the blessedness of Paradise, awaiting with patient hope 
the Morning of the Pesurrection, and the Day of Judg- 
ment, when the history of the conflict between good 
and evil, and of the triumph of the God-man over all 
the powers of darkness, will be unfolded, and the dust 
of the grave shall revive, immortal, and be “ clothed 
upon” with that body which God shall give it, and Par- 
adise shall be thrilled with the gladsome sympathies of 
an eternal fellowship. ‘‘Blessed are the dead who die 
in the Loed.” Think what it is to be with the God- 
man Mediator ; not yet, indeed, admitted into the high- 
est glory which awaits the redeemed, but still enjoying 
His blessings, and rich foretastes of the flnal glory 
which shall be revealed at the last day. Think what 
it is to hear the melody of the heavenly hosts ; yea, to 
behold, and with the great Hooker, meditate on their 
“ order and beauty,” as they sweep their harps before 
the Throne ; to wear the white robes, and await with 
patience the day which is to reveal the secrets of all 
hearts, and write up the full history of the world, and 
the love that rescued man from ruin. Yea, “Blessed 
are the dead who die in the Lord !” 

“ Earth is the spirit’s ray less cell ; 

But then, as a bird soars home to the shade 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


187 


Of the beautiful wood, where its nest was made, 
In bonds no more to dwell ; 

So will its weary wing 

Be spread for the skies, when its toil is done ; 
And its breath flow free, as a bird’s in the sun, 
And the soft, fresh gales of spring. 

0 not more sweet the tears 
Of the dewy eve on the violet shed. 

Than the dews of age on the * hoary head,’ 
When it enters the eve of years. 

Nor dearer, ’mid the foam 
Of the far-off sea, and its stormy roar. 

Is a breath of balm from the unseen shore. 

To him that weeps for home. 

Wings, like a dove to fly ! 

The spirit is faint with its feverish strife ; 

0, for its home in the upper life ! 

When, when will death draw nigh?”^^ 


^ Thatcher. 


188 


THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 


CHAPTER XV. 

CLERICAL TRIALS. CLERICAL PLEASURES. THE SUNDAY 
SCHOOL. 

A CLERGYMAN finds it impossible to please every one. 
Indeed, if be appreciates aright his office, he will never 
strive to do so at the sacrifice of truth, or a compromise 
of principle. He remembers the Lord’s warning, 
“ Woe unto you, when all men shall speak well of you ! 
for so did their fathers to the false prophets.” He 
knows, that to be popular with all, he must speak 
things pleasing to all, and must somewhere let go duty, 
or the distinctive truths of the faith ; for, all men will 
not bear to have their hearts torn open, their spiritual 
deformities revealed, or the distinctive principles of the 
Church plainly set forth, and at the same time admire 
him who thus faithfully discharges his sacred functions. 

Disguise it from ourselves as we may, there can be 
little doubt, that the estimation in which the clerical 
office is held by the sect spirit, acts in a refiexive way, 
unfavorably upon the Church. Notwithstanding the 
sacredness of the holy office, and the authority with 
which it comes to us from God, and which are taught 
and recognized by the Church, most fully and distinct- 
ly, on the authority of Scripture, there is an under- 
current of sentiment, borrowed from some of the phases 
and doings of the denominations around us, pervading 
the minds of many who profess and call themselves 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 189 

Churchmen, which clings to and fosters the notion, that 
the clergy are merely preachers, and preachers, too, 
of the opinions of those who “ Lire” them, and pay 
them their wages : a sentiment which throws the great 
question of office, work, authority, out of view, or holds 
it in abeyance, and which measures the man as man, 
by a factitious rule, that finds its spring in the substitu- 
tion of a perverted will, for the living truth of the liv- 
ing God. 

The fact may be verified, by the current modes of 
thought and expression that pervade a parish, when a 
clergyman first enters on the discharge of his sacred 
functions. Each of his parishioners will have a fancy, 
and an opinion, or notion, of his own. The poor Rec- 
tor will be too high, or too low, for Mr. this or Mr. that. 
Sometimes, he will be too strict or too loose, too fiery or 
too prosy, too light or too heavy, too energetic or too 
dull. Sometimes, he will be too pointed and practical, 
or too airy and fanciful. He visits too much for Mrs. 
A., or too little for Mrs. B. He has too much voice for 
Mr. C., or too little for Mr. I). ; and Mrs. E. declares it 
is awful, she can scarcely hear a word, forgetting that 
she is quite deaf, and that the clergyman cannot give 
her ears. And if he speak of such things too plainly, 
he gives offence. 

For one party, he is riot graceful enough in his de- 
livery, or he is too fast for Mr. Slow, or too slow for 
Mr. Fast. He has not a pleasant voice to the ear of Mr. 
Musical. Mr. Hard thinks nothing of a preacher who 
does not make him feel as though Satan were at the 
pew-door, and himself screwing up in the opposite 
corner to keep clear of him 5 and Mr. Soft cannot 


190 THE BLEMMEKTONS; OR, 

endure that style of sermonizing ; lie delights in the 
great outlines of the Gospel, in hearing sin abused, but 
cannot bear to be made to realize that himself is a sin- 
ner. “ That suits A., B., or C., but I am not in the 
category.” And alas ! Mr. Soft and Mr. Hard, could 
they both be pleased, would remain just the same, they 
would be not a whit better. 

Then, perhaps, the remiss Eector does not pay suffi- 
cient court and deference to Mrs. Tallman, or Miss 
Dasher. He is too ugly for Mrs. P., or too handsome 
for Mr. Q., who is resolute in the assertion, that all 
handsome clergymen are caressed until they are spoil- 
ed ; or, he has preached pointedly against worldliness, 
mammon-seeking, and subserviency, or warned conimu- 
nicants against taking the world to their bosom, and 
bowing before its fashionable requirements, in the mid- 
night rout and merry dance, and thereby offended some 
of the “ upper tens or, at some time, he has turned 
his back on the people, and faced the altar, and by 
some wise Methodistical body has been called by a bad 
name. Or, after all, and worse than all, he has been 
ground down by poverty, and a hard, rugged struggle, 
while his ]3arishioners have lived in luxury, and lavished 
their thousands on the fashions and follies of a perishing 
world ; or, his little family, growing up around him, 
will have bodies to be clothed and mouths to be fed, 
and he cannot help it, and desires a little increase of 
salary : then, he is parsimonious, and a money-seeker. 

Alas ! these are unpleasant reflections ; they fall not 
on paper with any degree of pleasure. We know they 
are true ; and the reader knows the same, although 
neither he nor the writer may have personally experi- 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


191 


enced them to any great degree. We write from life, 
from whose book we take our notes ; and we make no 
apologies. 

The reader is already aware of two facts in the 
thread of our sketch : first, that Mr. Lovegood would 
find some crooked characters in his new charge ; 
secondly, that he not only had the faculty of winning 
the afiections of the young, but also of commanding, to 
a very high degree, their respect and obedience. On 
the afternoon that he delivered his first sermon to his 
new congregation, a synopsis of which has already 
been given, he made his appearance in the Sunday 
School. He had a word of kindness for all the little 
boys and girls; and he called them his children, put- 
ting his hand on_the head of each in tuim, and asking 
his OT her name. He said-, he had no doubt they all 
were good boys and girls. This pleased them very much ; 
not so much on the score of vanity ; but that it was a 
manifestation of confidence in them. If you wish to 
infiuence children for good, never act towards them as 
though you expected them to do wrong, but right. 
This was ever Mr. Lovegood’s plan ; and so, on the 
present occasion, by manifesting this confidence in 
them, he gained theirs, and won upon their affections. 

‘‘ I^ow, boys,” said he, “ I know you are boys. You 
can spin a top, make and fiy a kite, play marbles and 
ball, and bandy, and jump, and run, or turn a somerset, 
like all other boys, can’t you?” ‘‘ O yes, Sir!” ex- 
claimed they. “ And you, girls,” continued he, “ can 
play doll and baby-house.” “ O yes. Sir,” said the 
girls. ‘‘ Yery well,” said he, “ boys and girls who can 


192 THE BLEMMEETONS; OE, 

do these things, can get good lessons for Sunday School. 
So you see I shall expect you to be diligent, and always 
to know your lessons well; to be punctual in your 
attendance at school, and obedient to your spiritual 
teachers, pastors, and masters, as you are taught in the 
Catechism.” 

The children’s eyes sparkled with delight, as they 
retired from the Sunday School ; and their little hearts 
danced with joy, as they looked forward to meeting 
Mr. L. on the coming Sunday. There was a bond of 
sympathy between him and them ; they understood 
each othnr ; he looked into their hearts, and they into 
his ; they loved each other. 

But, one little fellow, Tom Jones, unfortunately mis- 
took the point raised by Mr. L.’s remarks about playing 
ball and turning somersets. When, therefore, the 
aforesaid Tom reached home, to the infinite amusement 
of his parents and elder brothers, he deliberately drew 
a chair to the middle of the floor. Having carefully 
inspected it on all sides, he stretched himself across it, 
and gradually let himself down, head foremost, until he 
stood fairly on his head, holding himself in that posi- 
tion^by the rounds of the chair ; having satisfied him- 
self with this feat, in a moment he trounced over on his 
back, making a pretty fair somerset. 

“ There,” says Tom, “ I knew I could do it. I told 
him so.” “ Tommy, my dear,” said his anxious mother, 
“ what are you doing ? Are you crazy ?” “ Ho, in- 
deed, mother,” said Tom, with a grave face. “Mr. 
Lovegood told me I must ton somersets.” “Why, 
Thomas, are you beside yourself?” “ Deed, mother, 
he did,” persisted Tom. “ He asked me if I could do 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


193 


it, and I told him I could. And I am only trying ; 
for Mr. Lovegood told me it was my lesson for next 
Sunday, and that all the boys must see how smart they 
can be.” 

Mrs. Jones, it is true, had good practical common 
sense enough to know, that Tommy had in some way 
misapprehended Mr. Lovegood ; yet it pleased her to see 
tliat son her was disposed to be attentive and obedient. 
But it was too good a joke not to be repeated ; and, as 
most parents are fond of relating the naive tricks or 
smart little things in their children, that throw out in 
their estimation foreshadowings of a great future, we 
pardon Mrs. Jones for seeing in this act of the afore- 
said Thomas, the signs of a great Jones to he. That 
day, wherever the delighted mother went. Tommy’s 
smart trick, as she termed it, was the theme of her con- 
versation ; and, indeed, it was a pleasant one. But, to 
Mrs. Jones’s credit, we will say, that she had no thought 
of making any trouble for Mr. Lovegood, or affording 
for any one a ground of censure against him. She was 
quite a good, consistent Churchwoman, not given to 
gossiping nor fault-finding, always ready to esteem her 
Bector “ very highly in love for his work’s sake.” She 
saw only Tommy’s simple nmvete. 

K’otwithstanding, the poor Eector was not to be free 
from the vials of wrath. When Mrs. Fastidious heard 
of it, she exclaimed, “ she was positively shocked ! 
Who ever heard of a clergyman’s condescending to 
such an undignified thing, as to talk nonsense with 
children ! and she was sure they had all laughed right 
out in Sunday School. Suppose Tommy had made a 
little mistake; it was certain he did not fabricate it. 

9 


194 


THE BLEMMEKTONS; OE 


Something of the kind must have occurred, and it was 
too undignified to be tolerated. Dear me, what are we 
coming to ? I’ll ask Lucinda and Harry what Mr. 
Lovegood did say ; and I vow, if such talk was carried 
on. I’ll send my children to Dr. Kiproarer’s Sunday 
School. I’d rather they’d be Presbyterians, than 
sanction such doings ; profanity, I had like to have 
said !” 

Mrs. Fastidious was certainly warm. Harry and Lu- 
cinda, when called upon, related exactly what Mr. L. 
had said, and how he said it. But it was useless ; they 
loved Mr. L., with the rest of the children ; but, next 
Sunday, they were marched off to Dr. Riproarer’s Sun- 
day School. 

These little cliques generally met to discuss the af- 
fairs of the Church and nation at large, at short inter- 
vals ; not, indeed, by any set appointment, but acci- 
dentally, and yet with marked system and promptitude. 
The several members understood each other, sympa- 
thized with each other, and so were sympathetically 
drawn together. 

Ml’S. Blemmerton was pretty much of the opinion 
of Mrs. Fastidious. “ But it’s the way these Puseyites 
have,” she continued, ‘‘ of winning upon om’ children. 
They get children attached to them by such means, at 
least Mr. Blemmerton says so ; and then it is vain for us 
even to try to make any thing out of them. Puseyites 
they are bound to be !” 

“ Oh, me,” said Mrs. Hochurch, “ you don’t mean to 
say that Mr. Lovegood is a Puseyite, do you, Mrs. 
Blemmerton ?” Mrs. Blemmerton was not yet fully pre- 
pared to pass sentence on that point. “ You know,” 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 195 

continued she, “ that we are very friendly with Mr. Love- 
good, and he has been twice to see us, and is very anx- 
ious to get Dele Airmyth to take a class in the Sunday 
School.” “ Ah ha ! I see,” said Mrs. Fastidious ; “ I 
see !” 

“ JSTever mind. Mr. Lovegood thinks it a good thing 
to get young ladies interested in the Sunday School ; 
he thinks it a stepping-stone to better things ; and I 
think so, too ; and desire Dele to undertake it, very 
much. But she thinks she can never awake and dress 
in time to go. But I tell her, that I will have her 
waked very early. At any rate, I don’t suppose that 
the Sunday School has any thing to do with Puseyism.” 

“ Now I wonder ! Do tell !” 

“Well, as I said, I do not wish exactly to give an 
opinion. I do decidedly think that his talking to the 
boys about such silly things was very reprehensible ; 
but you must be sure not to tell him that I said so. 
And as to Puseyism, I can tell you only in a whisper, 
that Mr. Blemmerton did not like his sermon last Sun- 
day morning. We did not go in the afternoon; be- 
cause you know we never do ; it is so decidedly unfash- 
ionable. And he said that Mr. Pleasants said, that Mr. 
Wise said, that Mr. Flanders said, that that sermon was 
decidedly unevangelical. It was all about ‘ the minis- 
try,’ and ‘ the Church,’ and ‘ the sacraments, and ‘ the 
means of grace,’ and the like. I profess to know but 
little about such things, but Dr. Thunderer, you know, 
the other night called all this the ‘ great sacramental 
system,’ which he says is nothing more nor less than 
Komanism. And Dr. Thimderer is certainly high au- 
thority.” 


196 THE BLEMMEKTONS; OE, 

The ball, it will be perceived, was fairlj in motion. 
Mr. Lovegood, his sermon, and his doings in the Sun- 
day School, were all duly discussed by this little gos- 
siping party, whose nature it was to complain of any and 
every thing, if for no other reason, because, — and it was 
a weighty “because,” — the whole management and 
control of every thing pertaining to the Church was 
not vested in them. And there are few parishes that 
do not, in some shape or form, encounter this portentous 
evil of gossiping ; a pragmatical, officious, intermed- 
dling temper, that perpetually crosses the injunction of 
the Apostle, “ Study to be quiet, and to do your own 
business.” 

We pause, not to dash into an essay on this theme, 
though it be very prolific. Yet we cannot forego the 
occasion to say, that a gossiping, intermeddling dis- 
position, is a most dangerous and unhappy one. It is 
ever prone to press beyond all reasonable bounds, from 
idle tattling to the overt act of bitter scandalizing. The 
consequence is, that the possessor of such a disposition 
is frequently rendered miserable, by the reaction of his or 
her own acts, and the merited rebuffs that they meet from 
those whose rights they have violated, or whose useful- 
ness they have impaired. And it is dangerous, because 
of the many evils that follow in its wake, and especially 
because the confirmed gossiper will ever be on the 
alert, looking for work in his favorite employment, 
prone to seek it out, either by inquiry or surmise. And 
then there ensues all the misery of tattling, and back- 
biting, and false- accusing, vices pernicious to sound- 
ness of faith and Christian morality. 

A gossiping disposition is always unsettled, un- 


DOT TINGS ItY THE WAYSIDE. 197 

steady, and not apt or adequate to any thing great or 
noble ; or, if it succeed in developing striking traits or 
powers in one direction, they will be sure to be obscured 
or counterbalanced, by something that detracts from 
them in another. A truly great and well-balanced 
mind fastens itself upon specific and worthy objects, 
and to these it devotes all its mighty energies, and con- 
sequently develops and accomplishes great things. 
Boyle, young in years, mastered the whole round of 
philosophy, enlightened the world with his acquire- 
ments, and yet found ample time to discharge his duties 
to society and his fellow-men. He studied to be quiet, 
attended strictly to his sphere of duty, did good ; and 
his almost unbounded charities made glad the hearts of 
thousands of widows and orphans. Boyle was no gos- 
siper. 

Bacon, on the other hand, also a master of philoso- 
phy, a man whose attainments dispelled the falsities 
and mysticisms of the philosophy that had swayed the 
world, was tinctured, we believe, with a pragmatical 
disposition, and debased his high office by bribery and 
corruption ; and his great name, with all its honors, 
descends to posterity with a tarnish upon it. 

A gossiper is unsafe, and not to be trusted. A gos- 
siper cannot hold or keep a secret ; and will therefore 
be untrue, and not trustworthy. The gossiping spirit 
is inimical to the Gospel, inimical to growth in grace. 
Whoever is its possessor, bears about him or her, day 
by day, a misery and an evil ; a plague through life, 
that may end in a plague throughout eternity. 

But, we opine, that Mrs. Blemmerton never made a 
greater mistake, than when she said Mr. Lovegood was 


198 THE BLEMMEETOHS; OE, 

anxious to have Deliah Airmyth take a class in Sunday 
School. hTo such wish had been excogitated in his 
brain. The wish and the anxiety were both on the 
other side. Mrs. Blemmerton had proposed it herself, 
assuring Mr. Lovegood that she “ hoped Dele had a 
decidedly pious turn, and needed only a little help to 
he brought to Confirmation ; for she had wept the best 
part of the night, about a week ago, and said, at last, 
‘ Well, I believe I’ll give up the world.’ Now that was 
a good sign. And she thought the Sunday School the 
best training-sphere for a preparation for confirmation. 
As to herself, she knew she was not good enough to 
think of such a thing ; but she desired to see her chil- 
dren pious, and Dele was at times so seriously inclined, 
that she was anxious on her account. Julia Jasper was 
too young ; she was not yet quite seventeen. But Dele 
was older than she looked ; and it was quite time for 
her to assume a character of her own, and take a 
decided stand. Her brother, had he lived, would now 
have been thirty-six, and he was Dele’s senior exactly 
ten years.” This was right good arithmetic, and we 
suppose Mr. L. knew Miss Deliah’s age. 

Mr. Lovegood listened to all this, much as a man 
would, who was compelled to hear something against 
his will. Not many days elapsed, before, by mere 
accident, he heard all about Miss Deliah Air myth’s 
night of weeping. There had been a grand ball, to 
which Miss Deliah was invited ; but, unfortunately, a 
day or so before it came off, she, in running hastily up 
stairs, accidentally hurt her foot, which immediately 
swelled, and became very painful ; and, refusing to 
yield to all emollients, and the best of medical skill, it 


DOT TINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


199 


compelled her to forego her anticipated pleasure. That 
was to poor Miss Dele a night of weeping, indeed ; 
but she shed few tears of penitence, we opine, except 
in so far as she repented of running too hurriedly up 
stairs. 

Mr. Lovegood meditated on these developments ; 
and, like a discreet parson, he kept his meditations to 
himself. 


200 


THE BLEMMEETONS; OE 


' CHAPTER XVI. 

POLITICAL HUSTINGS. ME. BLEMM:EET0N BEFOEE THE 
PEOPLE. A SICKNESS WOESE THAN SEA-SICKNESS. 

Time, as it revolves on its great wheel, brings many 
changes. And still the old adage, “ Truth is stranger 
than fiction,” is often verified. Mr. John Bleminerton 
has of late grown wonderfully liberal. Money seems 
no longer the leading object of his life. Indeed, it is 
rumored, that of late he has been seen several times to 
pause in the street, and drop a sixpence into the gaunt 
hand stretched out for alms. He has been known also, 
to put a quarter eagle into the bag, at a collection made 
in Dr. Thunderer’s meeting-house, to defray the ex- 
penses of Dr. Orator to the World’s Temperance Con- 
vention, to be held somewhere, perhaps in London. 
And, indeed, we may say it to his credit, that, although 
he does not contribute, he no longer grumbles that Mr. 
Lovegood takes a weekly ofiertory. 

He is found regularly in his pew in St. ’s 

Church, on Sunday morning, and is disposed to be 
quiet, though at the last election for vestrymen his 
name was dropped. His Sunday evenings, as usual, 
are devoted to the services of Dr. Thunderer or Dr. 
Hiproarer. And Dr. Riproarer has been heard to 
boast, that Mr. B. had subsciibed five hundred dollars 
towards the building of his contemplated elegant meet- 
ing house, which, it is rumored, is to be supplied with 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 201 

an organ of immense power, and to exhibit a gilded 
cross on the spire. And X)r. Eiproarer does not hesi- 
tate to publish this act of Mr. B.’s abroad, right-lustily, 
as one of lasting honor and imperishable fame, and as 
a token of the liberal, unbigoted principles of the donor. 

In truth, take him all in all, in the world’s eye, Mr. 
B. is a decided improvement. It is true, he will not 
contribute to any of the Church’s appeals ; has again 
and again refused demands from the Church, to aid 
feeble churches and missionary work. He pays his 

hundred dollars’ pew-rent in St. ’s Church, and 

that is all. But the Church goes on without him. 
Outside of the Church, he is decidedly in advance of 
himself. He talks much about the cause of humanity, 
temperance, benevolence, and, as we have said, he is 
right well disposed to assist with his means the popular 
movements of the day. His name, consequently, has 
of late figured largely in the papers in the dollar and 
cent line ; and many fiattering letters of thanks have 
appeared in print, to Mr. John Blemmerton, for his 
noble responses to the calls of philanthropy. 

And Mrs. Blemmerton is more profuse than ever, in 
catering to the demands of fashionable society. Her 
parties are spoken of, as of the most “ superb order,” 
manifesting in their getting up the most perfect non- 
chalance as to expense. In taste, in beauty, in magni- 
ficence, they eclipse the city. In addition to her former 
magnificent arrangements, she has converted a suite of 
rooms into a grand dancing-saloon, in whose decora- 
tions art, irrespective of cost, has lent her most exqui- 
site touch of elegance and refinement. And when the 
glittering chandeliers pour out their flood of light, and 
9» 


202 


THE BLEMMEKTONS; OR, 


the exhilarating music floats over the throng, and the 
giddy whirl commences, Mrs. B. exults in her success, 
and receives with delight the plaudits of her guests, as 
they compliment her taste and judgment. 

“ Miss Dasher declares that this is equal to the days 
of Athenian splendor and elegance and “ Mr. W eak- 
in-the-Upper-Story thinks, that Mrs. B. has borrowed 
from the Athenians, and improved upon their pattern.” 

Now Mr. and Mrs. Blemmerton, withal, were calcu- 
lating people. They counted the cost; they looked 
upon all these things as investments, which were to 
bring back their interest. By them, Mrs. B. purchased 
and maintained her position in fashionable society. 
And Mr. B. had of late taken it into his head, that he 
would not live in the world, without identifying his 
name with the great men of the age, and handing it 
down to posterity, with that gracious little contraction 
‘‘ Hon.,” added to it. Both he and Mrs. B. had long 
since come to the conclusion, that “ Hon. John Blem- 
merton” would read well in print. Mr. B. must go to 
Congress. And the fact is announced, that, “ at the 
solicitation of numerous friends, Mr. John Blemmerton 
has been reluctantly induced to allow himself to run for 
a seat in the next Congress.” The dear people are also 
told, of what they are undoubtedly already aware, that 
the aforesaid Mr. B. may be fully relied on as the 
unflinching friend of the poor man, and the working 
classes in general. 

We beg pardon of Jonathan Heartful, Esquire, for 
having lost sight of him so long. He is neither dead, 
nor buried, and therefore, “ in the course of human 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 203 

events,” it is rendered necessary that he appear again 
on the stage, Mr. II. had steadily pursued his profes- 
sion of the law, in the city of , and now stood 

high in the estimation of his fellow-citizens. He had 
never sought the popular favor, nor striven to win it, 
hut by a diligent and faithful application to his profes- 
sion. He had been no whining courtier of the dear 
people, and the dear people loved him all the more for 
it; and now he was designated, by almost universal 
consent, as the proper one to take the field against the 
new champion, Mr. J. Blemmerton. The candidates 
are fairly in the field. The reader knows much more 
than we can tell him, about the doings of an election- 
eering campaign ; and therefore we shall not attempt 
to particularize. The rival candidates for popular favor 
had frequently met at the public hustings, and discussed 
some of the leading political topics. Mr. B. always 
retired, sorely worsted and chagrined. And it hap- 
pened, that, at a public meeting a few days before the 
election, Mr. B., losing all self-control, took occasion to 
allude, in unmeasured terms of harshness, to the pro- 
fession of his opponent, and his capabilities for the 
position which they both sought. 

“ Lawyers,” he said, “ had ever had too much to do 
with the management of our public affairs. It was 
time, he thought, that business men, who understood 
the wants of the people, and sympathized with them, 
who were the friends of the working- classes, had some 
control in state affairs. We want no more legal men ; 
they are not the working-man’s friend. They are the 
friends of their own pockets, and know how to charge 
exorbitant fees. Fellow- citizens,” said he, in what he 


204 THE BLEMMEETONS; OE, 

supposed to be an outburst of eloquent indignation, “I 
would scorn to take an undue advantage of the posi- 
tion of my young friend, who asks your votes for a post 
of dignity ; yet, as I desire to serve you faithfully, and 
you expect me to speak the truth, and know that I am 
your friend, as for long years we have together put our 
shoulders to the wheel,” “ Your own wheel !” cried 
one unruly voice. “ To push on the great car of im- 
provement,” “ Of putting dollars in your pocket !” cried 
another. “ To aid in lifting the working-classes from 
their degradation,” “ Eather to grind their faces,” whis- 
pered another. “ I must say, that, looking simply to the 
profession of our young friend, he presents no claim to 
your support. If he concocted a law, it would be so 
full of technicalities, that you would have to fee a law- 
yer, before you could understand it.” 

Mr. Heartful deprecated the course Mr. B.had taken. 
He abhorred canting and hypocritical masquerading 
before the public. For himself, he had no promises to 
make, no claims of which to boast. He had not sought 
the position ; and if he were not elected, he cared not 
a fig. But, since his opponent had challenged it at his 
hands, he would show up to the full gaze the fruits of Mr. 
B.’s great love for the working-man. He here went into 
a scathing account of the history of his treatment of 
William Wallace and his family, beneath which Blem- 
merton paled and trembled. Mr. H. said, that he re- 
gretted it ; but, duty to the true cause of man compelled 
him to silence the pretensions that had that day been 
put forth. “ And this,” continued he, is the poor 
man’s friend ! Alas ! alas ! you say, for such friend- 
ship ! Go ask the widow and the orphan ; go ask the 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


205 


naked and the hungry, spumed from that man’s door ; 
then listen to what you have heard to-day, and compare 
. notes.” 

Mr. B. little dreamed of all this. He was caught in 
his own trap. That story had come out. 

Mr. B. was sick abed until a month or more after the 
election. The phantom of distinguished honor was 
much farther off than ever. He could scarcely see its 
gaunt, skeleton arm, raised in the mist which seemed 
to envelop it, beckoning him on. He gave up the 
chase. Jonathan Heartful was elected, as the papers 
announced, by a “ tremendous majority.” And we 
may leave him in Congress, to shift for himself, and 
sharpen his wits by a conflict with the wits of the great 
men of the nation. 


206 


THE BLEMMEKTONS; OK, 


CHAPTER XVII. 

A DEATH-BED AND A DISCOVERT. 

Mrs. Wallace had been gradually declining, since 
her kind friends had provided so amply for her com- 
fort. Mr. Lovegood had long since made her acquaint- 
ance ; and now was found daily at her bedside, minis- 
tering, and deriving instruction and consolation, from 
communing with the saintly spirit, clothing itself for the 
world to come. We ever seem to be nearer heaven, 
when, holding converse with the saintly one, who, 
drawing near to “ the valley of the shadow of death,” 
must soon stand in the Lord’s courts. It seems as 
though we already stood within the hallowed “ circle 
of the redeemed” who “ rest from their labors,” and 
partook of their beatific joys. And O, how changed 
is the aspect of death, when viewed at the dying couch 
of the humble Christian, from what it is when seen in 
one who has lived without God in the world, and passes 
away without Hope beyond ! We have, indeed, seen 
the wretchedly-hardened and wicked die calmly ; but, 
there was no Heaven in that calmness. Stoical indif- 
ference, or obtuseness, has no mark of the Cross. It 
cannot be imposed upon us, for the impress of a sancti- 
fied heart and will. It is not the hallowed calm, as of 
angel-whisperings, foreshadowing rest beyond the tomb. 

And we have seen one, whose sanctity was unques- 
tioned, pass through an “ awful baptism” of sufferings. 


DOTTINQS BY THE WAYSIDE. 207 

shuddering over the grave, shrinking from death, its 
cold embrace and icy touch, and piteously lamenting 
a want of preparation. 

It was hut a sore temptation of “ the evil one for 
that trembling spirit had, for long years, been braced 
by the Grace of Immanuel. We never knew one more 
lovely in her Christian character, more watchful, more 
prayerful, more given to self-examination, more devoted 
to all charities and good works. She had been a pat- 
tern-woman, in all that was beautiful and attractive in 
Christian excellence ; and yet, when the dread mon- 
arch’’ approached her, the flesh was appalled, and the 
spirit trembled, as it gazed, with undimmed eye, into 
the awful profound of eternity. 

Never shall we forget that scene. For long, weary 
hours, did she wrestle with that temptation. She felt as 
though she were deserted of heaven, and stood alone, 
without hope and without consolation. We prayed 
with her, reasoned with her, read to her the most thrill- 
ing and cheering promises of her divine Lord ; por- 
trayed to her the Cross, and the great redemption there- 
on wrought, and the mercies by it bestowed, and the 
mighty hopes and privileges which were hers, as a fol- 
lower of Christ. And when the temptation was over, 
she seemed like one who had passed through a great 
conflict of afflictions. But, the “ Sun of righteousness” 
gilded all the rest of her way to “ the dark valley.” 
She partook of the sacred symbols of her Lord’s body 
and blood, and received strength ; and, as the clouds 
rolled away, and the spirit breathed freely again, such 
a radiant countenance, almost as if transfigured, and 
such sweet, heavenly musings, we never beheld, never 


208 THE BLEMMEKTONS; OR, 

heard. It seemed, that the very chamber was bathed with 
light from heaven, and that the spirit of the dying was 
about to dissolve and pass away, in its kindred element. 

It was a glorious evening in Spring, the Sunday 
next before Easter. The toils of the day being over, 
Mr. Lovegood was seated in his study, meditating on 
the services of the day through which he had passed, 
and the duties and employments of the ensuing Passion 
Week, and ‘‘ the great day,” to which it is a prelude. 

Of all the hours of a clergyman’s life, his Sunday 
evenings are, without doubt, the most pleasurable and 
happy. ’Tis then, more than at any other period, per- 
haps, that his heart is free and light and joyous ; not 
that the day’s work is done, but that he has added one 
more effort to the labors of 

“ The Sundays of man's life,” 

that, 

“Threaded together on time’s string, 

Make bracelets to adorn the wife 
Of the Eternal, glorious King !”* 

And his heart, so lately pouring itself out in prayer, at 
the holy altar, in behalf of his flock, now gushes out in 
the calm, quiet, hallowed evening hour, with joy and 
thanksgiving for all the mercies of the day, and the 
holy message which he hath delivered ;• and he meditates 
with delight on that ‘‘ Sabbath” of rest which is eternal. 

Mr. Lovegood is interrupted in his meditations by 
Mr. Friendly. Mr. E. is always a welcome visitor ; but, 
on this occasion, he brought painful intelligence. He 
had just paid his usual evening visit to Mrs. Wallace, and 


Herbert. 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 209 

found her dyin^. They hurried to the home of the dying 
woman. Her illness had suddenly increased. And there, 
on this hallowed eve, did Sarah Wallace partake of her 
last Communion on earth. Henceforth, she will com- 
mune with all saints in Paradise. 

The commendatory prayer was said ; and the faith- 
ful Pastor remained to see the last struggle, and wipe 
the death-damps that gathered on the brow. 

The reader will remember, that, in a former chap- 
ter, we spoke of a curiously-wrought antique silver cup, 
which we saw in a cupboard at Mrs. Wallace’s. This 
cup, on the present occasion, by an apparent accident, 
having attracted Mr. Lovegood’s attention, he took it 
into his hand, and, after examining it minutely, re- 
marked, “ It is singular, very singular ; but this cup, in 
a mysterious way, revives old associations.” 

He looked first at it, and its initials, and then intently 
at Mrs. Wallace : “ How strange !” exclaimed he. “ It 
is now many years since I have seen any thing like it ; 
but I cannot mistake ; the impression is too vivid ; it 
is the very pattern and style of my mother’s silver 
ware !” 

The dying woman, in hurried and broken accents, 
informed him, that it was a gift from her mother, when 
she was a little girl. The initial “G” stood for her 
maiden name, Grantner. It was all that she retained 
which bore any trace of the past, except the weary 
heart, which was about to find rest, Mr. Lovegood 
was deeply moved. His eyes filled with tears. Mrs. 
Wallace continued a brief narrative of her past history, 
seeming to be braced with almost superhuman strength, 
in the very grasp of death. She told him all the sacrifices 


210 


THE BLEMMEETONS; OK 


she had made for her coHsin Robert, as already detailed, 
prior to her removal to this country ; and, to render 
those sacrifices more complete, her brother Richard had 
died, shortly after reaching the New World. Bereft 
of every earthly friend, she had shared the lot and life 
of poverty and hardships of William Wallace. So long 
as he retained his health, and poverty and disease did 
not overcast their days, they continued faithful and 
regular in their attendance on the Church’s services, 
and received the attention of the Rector of the church 
in which they worshipped ; but, the Rector dying, a 
new clergyman succeeded him, and, his duties increas- 
ing, they were gradually lost sight of, until extreme 
suffering had brought them to the condition in which 
they were found on that memorable night by Mr. 
Heartful. 

“ And your mother,” said Mr. Lovegood, “ was Mary 
Gould ?” The dying woman fixed her glazed eyes upon 
him, and gasped for breath, groaning aloud. 

“ And I, and I,” continued he, choked with emotion, 
“ am fhe son of your mother’s sister, Grace Gould, who 
married Robert Lovegood, your own cousin. O God ! 
wonderful art Thou in all Thy ways ! Yerily Thou art 
a God that hidest Thyself, O God of Israel the Sa- 
viour !” 

We intrude not upon the sanctity of that scene. When 
the first gush of feeling, occasioned by the recognition, 
had subsided, Mr. Lovegood gave her a brief relation 
of his life in this country. His father had removed 
hither, when his children were very young, bringing 
them all with him except the eldest, whom he left to be 
educated, and to engage in mercantile business ; and 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


211 


he died some yiears after his arrival, leaving an embar- 
rassed estate and a helpless family. His mother turned 
the remnant of her property into ready money, and 
removed to the West. There, meeting with many pri- 
vations, in a new and rugged country, she had, from 
the force of circumstances and pressing duties, imper- 
ceptibly become weaned from her early associations ; 
and, for a number of years before her death, had ceased 
to have any communication with her friends in England. 
Hence he knew nothing of the intervening history of 
his relatives. All, to him, between the period of his 
father’s death and that hour, pertaining to the history 
of his family in England, was a blank. 

“ And,” continued he, “ how providential, that that 
old silver cup should have made such a revelation of the 
past. Truly, the ways of Providence are mysterious. 
And this is your dear daughter Agnes. Henceforth, 
she shall be mine ; the object of my care and affections. 
Come to me, my child. I will be unto you a father, 
from this hour, and make amends for the past.” “ O 
my soul, be joyful in the Lord !” 

Mr. Lovegood cast his eyes upon the bed : the spirit 
had passed away with that exulting sentence, and gone 
on angels’ wings to Paradise. Death reigned. A 
heavenly smile played a moment on the lips, which 
seemed to hallow the scene, and proclaim that all was 
well. 

The Pastor, with a full heart, sunk upon his knees, 
and poured out his heart in that beautiful prayer of the 
Church : 

“ O God, whose days are without end, and whose 
mercies cannot be numbered ; make us, we beseech 


212 


THE BLEMMERTONS; OR 


Thee, deeply sensible of the shortness and uncertainty 
of human life ; and let Thy Holy Spirit lead us through 
this vale of misery, in holiness and righteousness, all the 
days of our lives : that, when we shall have served 
Thee in our generation, we may be gathered unto our 
fathers, having the testimony of a good conscience ; in 
the communion of the Catholic ChurclT; in the confi- 
dence of a certain faith ; in the comfort of a reasonable, 
religious, and holy hope ; in favor with Thee our God, 
and in perfect charily with the world : All which we 
ask through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.” 

“ 0 welcome hiding-place, O refuge meet I 
For fainting pilgrims in this desert way; 

O kind Conductor of these wandering feet, 

Through snares and darkness to the realms of day 1 
Soon did the Sun of Righteousness display 
His healing beams ; each gloomy cloud dispel, 

While on the parting mist, in colors gay, 

Truth’s cheering bow of promise fell, 

And Mercy’s silver voice soft whisper’d, ‘All is well’ ” 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


213 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

FEMALE EDUCATION. CHRISTIAN NURTURE. 

It was not without counting the cost, that Mr. Love- 
good had volunteered to pledge himself to the pleasing 
task of becoming a father unto the fatherless, Agnes 
Wallace. The ties of consanguinity, which he had just 
discovered, rendered this a still more delightful duty, 
for such he felt it to he. 

Upon examining the family Bible of his deceased 
cousin, he found a register, setting forth the date of the 
birth of Agnes, and also of her baptism by the Eector 

of Church. And it only remained to him to 

train her, as “ a member of Christ, the child of God, 
and an inheritor of the kingdom of heaven.” He was 
not long in discovering, that her pious mother had been 
diligent in instructing her in the Catechism ; and, with 
her amiable disposition and gentle manners, softened, if 
not refined, by the trials through which she had passed, 
this meek lamb of the flock of the Great Shepherd 
needed only the fostering hand of diligence and love, to 
become an ornament to her sex, a gem among the 
many bright jewels which adorn the “ Bride of Chnst ” 

Hature had lavished upon her, with no sparing hand, 
the graces of a comely person, now bursting into 
womanhood, and a mind which only needed cultiva- 
tion to be expanded for a wide field of action in the 
sphere of female usefulness. 


214 THE BLEMMEKTONS; OK, 

We condescend not to the trivial office of a mere 
flatterer of feminine virtues ; for we honestly believe, 
that there is no virtue becoming in the gentler sex, that 
is not equally so in man. Still we shall hope not to be 
held to too strict an account, for expressing the opinion, 
that most of the good to be found in this lower world 
dwells in the heart of woman, and from thence issues 
forth on its errand of mercy in the world ; smoothing 
the roughnesses of man’s nature, mollifying his heart, 
and causing light to spring up in the abodes of wretch- 
edness, bringing tears of gratitude and thanksgiving 
from the hearts of the sorrowing. And woman, in 
making those around her happy, sows with a liberal 
hand seeds that are to vegetate and bloom in many 
hearts, long years after she has been gathered to her 
reward. 

It is Sydney Smith, we believe, that says, “ Mankind 
are always happier for being happy now ; you make 
them happy twenty years hence by the memory of it.” 
And so, a real, true woman, fulfilling her sphere on 
earth, casting her bread upon the waters, from the full 
hand of her charities, and the benedictions of her 
heart, stands in the centre of a vast circle of delights, 
that ascendeth from the earth up to the throne of God, 
and descends again, dispensing joy, and pleasant memo- 
ries, and winged words, and deeds of love, and heavenly 
blessings. 

But, alas ! how our modern notions of “ fashionable 
life” have dwarfed her to a mere shred of what she 
ought to be ! 

Mr. Lovegood, though not a parent, had weighed 
the duties of the parental relationship in all their bear* 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


215 


ings, and resolved to fulfil tliem faithfully, to the being, 
of whose training, for time and eternity, he had assumed 
the responsibility. He had little confidence in what is 
termed a “ fashionable education,” in which the deep 
cravings of the spiritual nature are neglected or over- 
looked. And even thorough mental training receives 
but small attention, in comparison with a few surface- 
work adornments, which meet the demands of the 
world of pleasure and fashion, such as dancing, waltz- 
ing, singing a song, or performing charmingly on the 
piano. Hot that he would discard such accomplish- 
ments and graces as adorn woman, but that he would 
teach her, that her true destiny is to move in a sphere 
more hallowed and ennobling, than that of the mere 
devotee of fashion and amusement ; that to be great, 
and good, and wise, and holy, she must learn to do 
good, thread the needles of charity, make music in all 
hearts ; the hearts of the poor, the outcast, the down- 
trodden of earth ; and so help the angels in their work. 

This, he would teach her, becomes her much more 
than to be a splendid and graceful dancer, or a mere 
bewitching, captivating enchanter, winning to her side 
a train of ardent admirers, not by the graces of the 
heart, but by the often unreal, unsanctified blandish- 
ments and adornments that are assumed for the moment, 
only to be laid aside, as a soiled or useless garment, 
when she shrinks into her real self. 

A “ fashionable ” education is but a portion of the 
grand scheme of Mammon. And what does a Church- 
man want wfith such an education for his daughter ? It 
is an education devoted to the beguilements of sin and 
pride, in their multiform modes of compliance with the 


216 THE BLEMMEETONS; OE, 

“ fashion of this world, which passeth away which 
too often teaches our daughters, that to be accomplish- 
ed, complaisant, and fascinating in a worldly sense ; to 
wear, it may be, a mask beautiful to look upon, but 
devoid of any sign of the cross, or of the real, whole- 
souled woman ; is, after all, the main object of her 
existence. 

And yet, what but a schooling, — for education it is 
not, — of this character, do our daughters derive in those 
“ fashionable ” schools where the Holy Chuech enter- 
eth not, with her sanctifying influences, and where her 
system is not faithfully, fully, and distinctly carried out ? 
Is there any true heart-training in them ? Is the spirit- 
ual woman cultivated, developed, drawn out, and fitted 
for a sphere of high and ennobling Christian fellow- 
ship and charity? Is it not, at least, a schooling of 
selfishness, that narrows down, dwarfs, blunts, and often 
deadens, the spiritual nature, imprinting a lie upon the 
heart, and setting a weight upon the conscience ? Do 
not our fashionable schools aim, implicitly at least, to 
make woman a mere gew-gaw, a gilded butterfly, to 
bask a day in the sunshine of this world’s smile, leaving 
the Immoetal Spieit a sickly, drooping thing, unfitted 
to meet the stern realities of life, or to go out into the 
world to feel the great throbbing heart of humanity, 
and sympathize with its pulsations, or to hear the low 
wail of its voice, as it cries aloud to heaven for succor? 
They who minister in holy things in times of calamity, 
know how to look about them for the women of heart 
and hand, and greatness of soul ; who can walk into the 
pestilence, and banish gloom and despair, as they softly 
move about the bedside of the sick and dying. But 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 217 

all ! how few, in comparison with the numbers of the 
gay daughters of pleasure and fashion, are thus schooled 
in works of mercy and love. 

And now, will fathers and mothers, who drink at the 
pure fountains of the Church of the living God, who 
in Holy Baptism have consecrated their daughters unto 
the Lord’s service, turn their little ones over to the 
world, — the meager, half-dead, staiweling world, — to be 
educated ? Will they neglect the spiritual culture of 
the souls whom the Lord will require at their hands? 
Will they neglect to expand the little hearts given them 
of the Lord, to be trained for His honor and glory ? or 
to teach those feeble hands, which, in their helplessness, 
are stretched out to them, how to bear the Cross ? or 
to train those little feet, which, without their loving 
guidance, must tread on thorns, and mark their pathway 
with blood, how to walk in “ the narrow way that lead- 
eth unto life ?” 

Everywhere, north, south, east, west, does the ques- 
tion of Christian nurture force itself upon the Christian 
consciousness of fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, pa- 
triots, and philanthropists. The Gospel makes it ever 
a prominent theme. And the Church-system, which is 
the Gospel system, looks narrowly to the training of the 
young. How guarded is our blessed spiritual mother, 
in the nurture of the lambs of her fold. How closely, 
and with what tender motherly love, does she press 
them to her bosom ! First, she brings them to the Font, 
“the laver of regeneration;” then, into the Sunday 
School, where she places them under the eye, and hand, 
and heart, of the Pastor, as catechumens, to be taught 
the way of life, and what “ holy things” they were 
10 


218 


THE BLEMMEETONS; OR 


made, and what holy blessings they received in baptism. 
She calls upon the- parents and sponsors, to train them 
in their high calling and profession, to keep their vows, 
promises, and privileges, ever before them. Then she 
calls them to Confirmation, the assumption and ratifi- 
cation of their baf)tismal vows and promises ; and from 
thence to the Holy Communion, to feast on that heavenly 
food which the Lord vouchsafes to give for their life. 
She would never leave them to chance, or the “ educa- 
tion of circufnstances,” but would ever draw them close 
to her heart, and teach them that they are “ Christians,” 
very members of Christ’s mystical body, and have them 
nurtured as Christians, not feeding on the beggarly ele- 
ments of the world, but on the wholesome nourishment 
which the Lora gives through the Word, and Ordinances 
of the Church ; so that, like their divine Lord, as they 
grow in stature, they may also grow in wisdom, and in 
favor with God and man. 

And O how lovely, how sanctified, is this system of 
the Church, which from the Font never loses sight of 
the holy privileges which, in the sacrament of Baptism, 
were made over to our children, even that then they 
were “ made members of Christ, children of God, and 
inheritors of the kingdom of heaven.” 

But, alas ! how lamentably is this great Gospel system 
lost sight of, at this day of Mammon-seeking, by many 
who stand in “the old paths.” And how are we to 
expect a growth of grace in our offspring, commensu- 
rate with their privileges, unless parents earnestly and 
faithfully perform their duty ?* The grace conveyed 


* Rev. Dr. M. P. Parks. 


D0TTING8 BY THE WAYSIDE. 219 

in Holy Baptism needs cultiyation, in order to its 
growth and development, just as the grain of corn 
planted in the earth requires the diligent hand of the 
husbandman, in order to its thrifty growth, and the 
bringing forth of the full-grown blade and ripened ear. 
Thus, cultivation must be given by the parent, in the 
ways of the Church, or, like the poorly cultivated grain 
of corn, which, though planted in a rich and genial soil, 
produces but a half-grown, blighted, sickly plant, the 
youthful “ member of Christ” will grow up, bearing the 
marks of blight, sickly, diseased, and unproductive, in 
the spiritual life. 

And if the child grow up in wickedness, dishonoring 
its calling, tarnishing its white robes, will any dare say, 
that no grace was given in baptism, no gift of the Holy 
Ghost to profit withal? Who censures the grain of 
corn, or the soil, for failing, when the hand of diligence 
has neither tilled, nor cut out the rank weeds that choked 
the grain, and hindered its thrifty growth ? Nay, with- 
out doubt, the fault lies at the door of the parent, who 
failed in the Christian nurture of the child. Let pa- 
rents, then, who would be faithful to their solemn trusts, 
give their hearts to this subject ; let them take an in- 
terest in the Sunday School, and, above all, in the strict 
systematic Parochial School, and higher Church schools 
and colleges, in which the every-day life of their children 
is moulded heavenward. Let them watch over their 
training, by day and by night ; see that they are duly 
instructed in the Catechism, and in all other things that 
a Christian ought to know, and believe, and do, for his 
souPs health. Then may we look for the fruits of God’s 
grace and Holy Spirit in Baptism ; then may parents 


220 THE BLEMMEETONS; OE, 

expect to see their children growing up in “ the nurture 
and admonition of the Lord to behold them as “ pol- 
ished corners in the Temple” of our God ; and see them 
coming up around them, to fill their places in the Church 
and the world, when they are gone. In them they 
shall, as it were, live again ; their memory will be em- 
balmed in the lives of their posterity ; their names shall 
not perish from the earth. 

Children are the hope of the Church ; the gems, and 
jewels, and treasures of the Gospel ; yea, the Lord hath 
said, “ of such is the kingdom of heaven the sweet, 
gentle scions that are coming up around us, to fill our 
places, to stand before the Lord’s altars, worship in His 
holy temple, go out on the wings of love to bind up the 
broken-hearted, to wield the powers of government, to 
receive from us the civil and religious heritage which 
we possess, and transmit it to the generations that come 
after them. And O, if we look into the mighty future, 
what immense issues and destinies, in the Providence of 
God, hang upon the training which the rising genera- 
tion is to receive now, while under tutorage and gov- 
ernment. The day is rapidly coming, when the history 
will be written up, of what we have done, of what we 
are doing. 

What Tacitus says, may be true of the productions of 
the earth : — “ Many things are sown, and brought to 
maturity with toil and care ; yet that which grows from 
the wild vigor of nature has the most grateful fiavor 
but it is not true of the things of divine grace. Our 
fallen man’s nature, from its “ wild vigor,” brings forth 
that which is ungrateful, unwholesome, and full of rot- 
tenness and corruption. But, as we have seen the un- 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 221 

fruitful vine, transplanted into a more congenial soil, 
spreading forth its branches, clustering with fruits, lift- 
ing its head towards the sun, and living upon the co- 
pious showers which fall from heaven ; so, our fallen 
man’s nature, taken out of that fallen, unproductive 
state, and planted in the Lord’s vineyard, and there 
duly trained and cultivated, is made alive and vigor- 
ous, and productive of all good fruits, in the fulness of 
the divine grace, and the care of the blessed Husband- 
man, and the refreshing waters which flow from the 
living fountain of Christ’s love. 

Such, Christian parent, is the condition of your ofi- 
spring who have, in Baptism, been planted together 
in the likeness of Christ’s death,” if you are faithful at 
your posts. But, all depends upon that. And the ques- 
tion for you to decide is, whether you will train them 
in and for Christ and the Church, or leave them to 
chance. 

“ The stones which are appointed for that glorious 
Temple above, are hewn and polished, and prepared for 
it here, as the stones were wrought and prepared in the 
mountains, for building the Temple at Jerusalem.”* 


^ Leighton ; and Coleridge, Aph. VI. 


222 


THE BLEMMEKTONS; OR, 


CHAPTER XIX. 

A STOMACHIC CHARACTER. A DISCUSSION ON SINCERITY. 

A SHAM COURTSHIP. 

We beg leave here to introduce to the kind indul- 
gence of the reader, Mr. Benjamin Slocum Sapientium, 
as we shall have occasional use for his good services. 
Ben Slocum, as he was called, was the nephew of Mrs. 
Blemmerton, and held the resj)onsible post of an under- 
clerk in the establishment of Mr. John Blemmerton. 
He wrote a good clerical hand, knew how to cast up 
accounts, make a close bargain, mark, measure, and 
fold up domestics, and the like, and sometimes he 
“ did” the marketing ; but farther as to the said Ben’s 
mental calibre, this deponent would not like positively 
to speak. 

Public rumor, not, however, always a reliable au- 
thority, persisted in saying, that the aforesaid Ben was 
rather weak in the upper-story, had more stomach than 
brains, or, as with a nameless scapegrace, perhaps his 
brains lay in his stomach. Be that as it may, the afore- 
said Ben Slocum had never made any stii* in the world, 
nor in any way come into public notice. He some- 
times grinned, when addressed, by way of showing that 
he was conscious of existence, and had a handsome set 
of teeth, the only thing of which he could boast, ex- 
cept his stomach. 

How, Dr. Riproarer had been preaching every night, 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 223 

for six successive nights, a “ big gun” sermon, with a 
view of getting up a revival. Ben Slocum had been 
attending these revival-meetings ; and it was* but too 
evident, that upon him an impression had been made, 
either by the Doctor, or by Miss Sally Fastidious, a 
young lady whom he took it into his head he was some 
of these days to marry, and whom he thought he terri- 
bly loved, but who, fickle thing, of late received more 
graciously the attentions of another suitor ; and, for the 
past six nights, Ben had not had the pleasure of wait- 
ing on her to meeting.” 

This was a sore calamity, quite sufficient to cast a 
young gentleman of Ben’s aspirations into the Slough 
of Despond. Hood’s “ Happiest Man in all England,” 
when he plunged into the mud-hole waist deep, was not 
half so uncomfortable as our unphilosophical young 
friend, whose surname by no means afforded an ample 
key to his character. Mud is good, and may be ap- 
plied to many useful purposes, but not such a slough as 
that in which Ben now found himself. There was no- 
thing at all good in it as to him. Beat it up, spread it out, 
mould it into the form of bricks, dry it, burn it, cook it, 
pound it; it was all the same, good for naught to poor Ben. 
It was a great misfortune, as I believe my Uncle Toby 
said about the cataplasm, in its connection with Tris- 
tram, Susan, and Dr. Slops. But we cannot mend the 
•matter. Ben was fairly “cut out.” The young lady 
had given him “ the sack,” or “ flat,” or whatever else 
you please to term it. Ben thought it the jumping 
“ fits.” Ben was flat enough, that is certain. The age 
of duelling had not yet dawned upon our world, or per- 
haps, but for his stomach’s sake, Ben might have done 


224 


THE BLEMMEETONS; OE, 


something violent. As it was, “ prudence” he deemed 
“ the better part of valor.” But, poor Ben became very 
melancholy ; it was more than he could well digest, 
therefore he talked about “ getting religion,” ‘‘ doing 
better,” “ mending his ways,” “ having nothing more 
to do with women,” and a hundred and one other things. 

While this unpleasant state of affairs in Ben’s his- 
tory was the theme of discussion at home (he lived with 
his aunt). Dr. Biproarer paid Mrs. Blemmerton a visit, 
by way of returning the compliment that she had paid 
him, in attending his “ big-gun” sermons. He under- 
stood Ben’s case decidedly. He knew that he was 
“ laboring under conviction,” to use his own phrase ; 
for he had all the symptoms of it, he said, as he had 
often seen them developed. He was greatly concerned 
in Ben’s behalf; and hoped that he should have him as 
“another seal to his ministry.” 

Query: was it Sally Fastidious, or the eloquence of 
the Doctor, that had wrought so powerfully on Ben ? 

After the Doctor’s departure, Mrs. Blemmerton 
sought Ben, and said to him : “ Ben, my son,” (she 
always called him her son,) “ Ben, my son, what ails 
you? You seem so low-spirited !” Ben did not know 
what the difficulty was. Thought, perhaps, that his 
liver was disordered. Had he said stomach, he would 
have been nearer the mark. “ Ben, my son,” continued 
Mrs. B., “ you must be under ‘ conviction.’ ” They all 
were familiar with these phrases, from their frequent 
attendance on the worship of some one or other of the 
new lights. You have all the signs of it, as I have 
heard it described by Dr. Biproarer. IndeOd, Dr. Bip- 
roarer just said so.” 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 225 

Ben could not tell ; he knew that he felt very badly ; 
hut he thought Sally Fastidious a fool, to have any 
thing to do with that red-headed fellow, Bill Jenkins ; 
and he thought it would be a very good thing if he 
could “ get religion.” Indeed, he had half a mind to 
believe, that Sally Fastidious thought so, too. 

“ Well, Ben, my son. I’ll send for Mr. Lovegood, and 
have him talk with you on the subject.” 

This was beyond Mr. Slocum’s comprehension. He 
could see neither rhyme nor reason in sending for Mr. 
Lovegood ; and he aroused to the startling effort of ask- 
ing, with surprise. ‘‘ Why Mr. Lovegood ? why not Dr. 
Kiproarer ?” 

“ Because, Ben, my son, you know we are Episcopa- 
lians, and after you ‘ get religion’ you may join what 
Church you please. If you do not like Mr. Lovegood, 
but prefer Dr. Riproarer, why you can join his Church. 
But if you join Dr. Riproarer’s Church without saying 
any thing to Mr. Lovegood beforehand, he will be of- 
fended with me, and blame me for it.” 

Ben persisted, that she need not send for Mr. Love- 
good, declaring that if he joined any Church, it would 
be the Presbyterian ! He was, he insisted, bound to be 
a Presbyterian. 

notwithstanding Ben’s remonstrances, Mrs. Blem- 
merton insisted on communicating the important intel- 
ligence to Mr. Lovegood. There are always wheels 
within wheels, in this moving world of purs, and they 
who do not drive, are often found in harness, pulling 
along, with all their might and main, the great lumber- 
ing vehicle. Expediency. Or else they are bargaining 
or bartering for running-gear, and freight to wheel 
10 ^» 


226 THE BLEMMERTONS ; OR, 

over the turnpike of utilitarianism. This is a cal- 
culating world ; and Mrs. Blemmerton lived in a cal- 
culating age, and was in fact a calculating woman. 
She was, though of course, in the present instance, very 
I’eligiously disinterested as to all personal considerations, 
apart from the melancholy condition of Mr. Ben Slocum, 
apt to be found, either driving, or in harness, ready to 
be driven. Either way, it booted little to her, so that 
she made a good bargain, a capital hit, or a lucky spec- 
ulation. 

Mr. Lovegood, though with reluctance, obeyed her 
urgent request, that he would take the earliest moment 
to see her on business of importance ; and in due time 
he made his appearance, at which time and place the 
case was duly opened, and Mr. Benjamin Slocum Sa- 
pientium was placed under his tender pastoral care and 
guidance. 

Here was a case. Was it one of conscience or casu- 
istry? We wot not. Still it was a case as novel as it 
was I’are, and as rare as novel, in the Pastor’s experi- 
ence. There are times and circumstances in a clergy- 
man’s life, which baffle, and almost set at defiance, all 
the rules of experience, and the laws of ecclesiastical 
usage, and which drive him to such resources as, in an 
emergency, he may call to his aid. 

For awhile, Mr. Lovegood was bewildered. He 
scarcely knew what to do with such a case ; the case of 
one seeking to make good his calling and election in 
the Church of God, in the ways, and through the means, 
employed by the modern “ revivalist” school. It must 
be told, that Mr. Ben Slocum had been baptized in the 
Church; but alas! for him, he had had no Church- 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


227 


training. His baptism passed for nothing, in bis esti- 
mation. According to the notions of some of the sects 
whose views he had imbibed, or rather picked up, 
much as a parrot does the chance words that fall upon 
his ear, he esteemed his baptism only as the customary 
mode or fashion of adding the left-hand appendage to 
his name, Benjamin Slocum ; after which, like a bird 
newly plumed, he came out fully dressed, and made up, 
whole and singular, Benjamin Slocum Sapientium, the 
latter being derived from his father. 

If the reader doubts whether we give a correct ac- 
count of the view held by some of the Sects on baptism, 
let him visit the land of musquitoes, sunshine, figs, 
and fiowers, and we will put his hand upon a veritable 
book, that will enlighten his mind on the subject. 

Mr. Ben Slocum knew nothing about the Church. 
How could he, when all his notions were picked up by 
chance at some “meeting-house,” (and we hope we 
shall be pardoned for the use of that word “ meeting- 
house for, when a boy, we gave fearful ofience by 
calling a “meeting-house” “church;” we came near 
getting our ears boxed ; we promised never to do so ir- 
religious a thing again ; and we have endeavored to 
keep that vow, as sacred as that of an anchorite, in 
memory of the old lady, who caudleized us,) — or, in 
and about “Blemmerton House,” and of course he 
knew nothing about his duties and privileges as a mem- 
ber of the Church. 

What, then, could Mr. Lovegood do, (and if any one 
could have done better, we recommend him to do it, 
should a similar case ever fall across his pathway,) but 
throw him back upon first principles, refer him to his 


228 THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 

baptism and catechism ; which, perhaps, he had never 
read. He also furnished him with some proper books, 
and otherwise gave him such general instructions as 
were calculated to prepare him as a candidate for Con- 
firmation. And this was Mr. Lovegood’s mode of 
“ getting religion” for a young man. Mr. Ben Slocum 
thought it a slow and laborious process indeed. Like 
Haarnan, he looked for some great thing to be done, — 
a labor-saving mode ; and lo and behold, there was a 
pile of books to be read, and two or three pages of an 
old, obsolete catechism actually to be committed to mem- 
ory. But Mr. Slocum husbanded his uncomfortable 
reflections in his own bosom. 

“And now, Mr. Sapientium,” said Mr. Lovegood, 
“ if I understand your case, you desire to become a 
candidate for Confirmation, to amend your ways, re- 
nounce your sins, live a Christian life, fulfil your bap- 
tismal vows and promises, and become a communicant 
of the Church.” “ Exactly so. Sir,” said Ben. “ I am 
greatly rejoiced to hear of your determination, and 
heartily bid you God-speed in it. It will be my pleas- 
ure, from time to time, to afford you such counsel as 
may be serviceable to you. It is indeed a beautiful 
spectacle, one that raises the angelic song of joy in 
heaven, to behold the young devoting themselves to 
the Lord’s service. I trust you have thought, and will 
continue to think, on the greatness of the work before 
you. Bead the little books diligently that I have 
placed in your hands, and make it a point to see me 
often. ‘Be instant in prayer;’ for, without earnest 
prayer, you can make no progress in the divine life ; 
repent of, renounce, and foraake your sins ; expect not 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


229 


to become a full-grown Christian in a moment. Your 
holy spiritual mother, the Church, when she gave you 
the baptismal waters, pressed you to her heart as her 
own child, and henceforth recognized in you a member, 
child, and servant, of her Lord and Master, who is her 
Head and Fulness. If you have grown up, as I fear 
you have, a stranger to her paths and ways, a stranger 
to your Heavenly Father’s house and home, and, like 
the poor, wretched, prodigal of the Gospel, have taken 
your goodly portion into a strange service, and wasted 
it in sinful and riotous living, like him you must repent 
of your folly, and return to your Father’s arms and love, 
wdth the plea, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven, 
and before Thee, and am no more worthy to be called 
Thy son.’ St. Luke, xv. 18, 19. He will meet you on 
the way, embrace you, put upon you the best robe of 
His house, and restore you to His favor and love. 

“ The Church knows nothing of the popular, ‘ acci- 
dental’ religion of the Hew Light system. She is 
sober, sedate, godly, relying rather on ‘ the fmits of the 
Spirit,’ love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, good- 
ness, meekness, faith, temperance, than on the feverish 
emotions of excitable temperaments, for the evidences 
of a right condition before God. She expects you to 
grow in grace, in the faithful use of appointed means. 
Be not, then, I beseech you, carried away by the ‘ re- 
vival notions’ that are prevalent. Seek to be a sober, 
whole-souled, sound-headed and sound-hearted Chris- 
tian, in the ways of the Church, which are as old as 
the Gospel. Be not carried away by an ignis fatuus, 
but ‘ hold thee fast’ by the true light which burns on 
the altar of the Church of the living God. We have 


230 THE BLEMMEETONS; OE, 

no confidence in these systems of human contriving ; a 
religion made easy, like modern' spelling-books, and 
‘done’ in haste, meets not the demands of Scripture. 
Eeligion is a work of instruction, penitence, and holy 
living, and prayer, and the subjection of the evil in 
man’s heart. Therefore, I trust that you will not allow 
yourself to be tampered with, by these systems of a few 
years’ age and growth.” 

“ N^o, Sir, by no means. Sir !” Mr. Ben Slocum had 
no idea of such a thing ! He had no faith himself in 
sudden conversions, and as to becoming a Presbyterian, 
that was quite out of the question. He did not admire 
Presbyterianism at all. 

Just now Mr. Slocum might have been very sincere, 
although he had made quite a contrary declaration to 
his aunt. That is, he might, for the moment, have 
changed his mind, a thing not impossible or improbable 
in his case ; for Ben was unmistakably a man of idio- 
syncracies Be this as it may, Mrs. Blemmerton, who 
had been listening through the key-hole of the door, in 
an adjoining room, fearing that Ben was occupying a 
ticklish position, thought it best, at this juncture, to 
arrest farther proceedings, by making her appearance. 
Indeed her patience had grown threadbare ; for she liad 
other weighty and important matters to bring before 
Mr. Lovegood. And here the conversation between 
the Pastor and the candidate for Confirmation came to 
a close, and Mr. Slocum gladly retired. Hor should 
we be surprised, if he were found before night, in the 
predicament of another wdglit whom we wot of, who, 
to get up an equilibrium in his stomach, (stomach in 
the present case filling the place of brains,) lay an 


DOT TINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 231 

nmbrella or a broom-handle across the top of a couple 
of chairs, and amused himself with jumping over it. 
This is said to be a charming remedy for gout in the 
stomach, ennui, blues, or any of their cognates. Jump- 
ing is always a wholesome exercise, and especially so 
for any of the foregoing “ ills which flesh is heir to.” 
Fancy such a character as Ben Slocum, on a melting 
day in August, alone in his room, coatless, hatless, 
bootless, unstrapped, cravatless, with disheveled hair, 
puflSng, snorting, blowing under such a profltable and 
edifying exercise. 

Mr. Lovegood, who was in no secret, never suspect- 
ing either Ben’s stomach or liver to be in fault, was 
really obliged to Mrs. Blemmerton for calling his atten- 
tion to him. 

Mrs. B. was perfectly delighted ; for, though making 
no pretensions to religion herself, she was very desirous 
that all her family should be pious, and she really 
hoped that Ben Slocum would “ get through,” as Dr. 
Kiproarer said, soon, and ‘‘ experience religion.” She 
had never “ experienced” any thing like “ conversion” 
herself, or even “ conviction ;” if she had, she certainly 
would have improved it ; but she supposed her time 
had not yet come. But from all she had heard Dr. 
Kiproarer and others say on the subject, she doubted 
not that the aforesaid Ben was in a fair way. 

Mr. Lovegood expressed surprise and pain at finding 
one who called herself a Churchwoman, adopting the 
phrases and notions of the Revivalists. “ The Church,” 
said he, “ knows nothing of such dogmas ; at best, they 
only divert the mind from the very essence of true 
religion, aim to develop a system of ‘ religion made 


232 THE BLEMMEETONS; OE, 

easy,’ and throw out of view practical, working faith, 
by substituting a flimsy shadoWi It is my duty to 
speak thus to you, Madam, though it be painful. Were 
my position towards you any other than that of a 
Pastor, I might withhold my sentiments, perhaps with- 
out any breach of duty ; for, in a merely conventional 
point of view, there is a spell, which mankind fear to 
break, resting over their social intercourse and friend- 
ships, and the heart is ever loth to trespass, where 
every transgression is pregnant with humiliation, pain, 
and grief. But my office raises me above such consid- 
erations, and compels me to be instant in season or out 
of season.” 

This went decidedly against the grain ; but Mrs. 
Blemmerton determined to maintain the equanimity of 
her temper, and therefore contented herself with the 
observation : “ You know we are liberal, Mr. Love- 
good. And there is Dr. Skyrocket, one of the most 
popular and eloquent divines we have. He preaches 
for the Presbyterians and Methodists very often, and 
would, if he were allowed, I have understood, have 
their preachers in his pulpit, and surely he cannot 
think their notions so exceedingly wrong. Indeed I 
have known him to attend their ‘ revival meetings and, 
really, I think he enjoyed them as much as any one, 
and looked as happy. And for our part we think it 
matters not so much what one believes, or how they 
‘get religion,’ so that they get it, and are sincere. 
This is the opinion of Dr. Kiproarer, who is, you are 
aware, a very learned man ; and I think Dr. Skyrocket 
must entertain the same opinion. People will difler, 
you know, Sir. All cannot think alike.” 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


233 


Mr. Lovegood could not answer for the opinion of 
either of the learned Doctors ; they were neither his 
teachers nor Mrs. Blemmerton’s. The Doctors are not 
infallible, and they would be the first to deny infalli- 
bility, even to the Church ; ergo^ they could not claim 
it for themselves. And yet, with all due deference to 
their “ learned opinions,” he was certain that the 
Church teaches no such notion ; moreover, he was 
clearly of the opinion, to say the least, that the Church 
is nearer infallibility than the Doctors, and, conse- 
quently, less liable to err. 

‘‘ But aside from this, Mrs. Blemmerton,” continued 
he, “ is that proposition true ? You say you are liberal ? 
Liberal with what ? You have a right, and are re- 
quired, to be liberal with your purse! But where do 
you learn in Holy Scripture, that you are to liberalize 
God’s immutable Truth, according to your understand- 
ing of that proposition ? If man made his own religion, 
then might he liberalize it as he pleased, alter, amend, 
or dispense with it, at his own discretion. But, religion 
comes from God, ‘ the Father of lights, with whom is 
no variableness, neither shadow of turning.’ Chris- 
tianity descended from heaven, is divinely revealed : 
what then has man to do, but receive it just as it is 
-given ? It was not given to exercise man’s ingenuity, 
in moulding, or amending, or altering, or adapting it to 
his own predilections, but to exercise his faith, and train 
him for the world to come. And he is required to 
receive, hold, live upon, the Faith, as Christ hath 
revealed it to His Church, and not on his own terms, — 
and he is to be liberal in aiding to dispense it abroad 
over the world, not in granting indulgences, ac- 


234 THE BLEMMEETONS; OE, 

knowledging error, heresy, or schism, to be the 
Truth ? 

“ And if what you say is true, that it matters not 
what a man believes, so that he is sincere ; then if he 
be sincere in error, his error becomes to him the truth ; 
and by parity of reasoning, on the same principle, it 
will not matter whether he believes any thing. Is this 
the Gospel Faith ? Is this what the Apostle means, 
when he charges us to ‘contend earnestly for the Faith 
once delivered unto the Saints ?’ It cannot be. I 
doubt not, that there have been good and pious men, in 
all ages of the world, who were associated with some 
shade or .type of religious error. But will the piety or 
sincerity of the man make his the truth? It 

cannot, any more than holding the truth intellectually 
will make the man holy and pious. Suppose a man 
walks into your parlor to-morrow, seizes a valuable 
article, and is about to bear it off, even before your 
eyes, would you not say to him, ‘ Sir, that is my prop- 
erty, you cannot take possession of it ?’ And suj)pose 
he answei’s, ‘ Madam, I sincerely believe it is my right 
and duty to take this article !’ what would you argue 
his sincerity to be worth, in contrast with the question 
of right?” 

Mrs. Blemmerton shrugged her shoulders at this, and 
looked wistfully around on the beautiful ornaments and 
costly gewgaws that decorated her magnificent parlor. 
The Pastor had evidently struck a rich and profitable 
vein. 

He proceeded : — “ We republicans hold monarchy to 
be wrong and tyrannical ; but it does not necessarily 
follow, that all monarchs are either impious or tyran- 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 235 

nical. And so in the case before us, we deal with erro- 
neous systems, not so much with men. And we say the 
man may be a good man, and yet the religious system 
to which he may be attached, may be very erroneous, 
very unsound, in either one or both of two sins, heresy 
and schism. Does it follow, that he should not re- 
nounce his false system, or that we should not condemn 
it ? By no means. Truth, justice, charity, require it 
at our hands, making it our imperative duty, to en- 
deavor to release him from his error. 

“ It were indeed, then, strange, to say that it matters 
not what a man believes, when he is required to believe 
the Truth, and it is the Truth alone that is to make him 
altogether free. Otherwise, what gain we by being 
Christians % Would you say we had as well be Mo- 
hammedans or Mormons ? You dare not, and yet your 
proposition leads exactly to such a conclusion ! 

“ It is clear, then, Mrs. B., that it does matter what 
we helieve / that a man may be very sincere, and very 
honest, and yet be in perilous religious error, teaching 
heresy, and living in schism. And it no more follows, 
that he should not renounce his system, and its errors, or 
that we should not condemn it, and endeavor to lead him 
into the embrace of the truth, than that you should not 
denounce the man who would rob you of your property, 
because he sincerely thinks he ought to take it, or that 
we should not condemn monarchy, because all mon- 
archs are not impious and tyrannical. 

“ And see, too, to what this dogma of sincerity, and 
‘ it matters not what a man believes,’ as the sole guide 
to the truth, has led, based, as it is, on the broadest 
ground of the Latitudinarian Private Judgment sys- 


236 THE BLEMMEETONS; OE, 

tem, every man interpreting the Bible as he pleases. 
Has it not resulted in a multitude of jarring and dis- 
cordant sects, each boasting, it is true, of its sincerity, 
which we do not care to question, and yet each opposed 
to the others, in a greater or less degree, on some vital 
question of Christian doctrine ; each going in a differ- 
ent path ; each holding a different faith in some partic- 
ular ; and yet, stranger still, each holding your views 
of an enlarged liberality, each clinging to this doctrine 
of sincerity, as the talisman of truth. Your theory, 
then, must be wrong, or else there is a great amount of 
insincerity among the multitude of jarring sects. For 
truth is, and must in its own nature be, a unit ; and if 
siNCEEiTT is the only test of truth, then it follows, that 
multitudes must have failed in sincerity ; in other 
words, must have become wofully insincere, to have 
produced such an array of opposing and conflicting 
doctrines. 

“ And what tower of strength can these contradictory 
elements raise against any type of heresy or schism, 
when its founders shall hurl hack upon them this doc- 
trine of sincerity, and inform them, that they have only 
acted upon their example, done as they have done, in- 
terpreted the Bible as they pleased, formed a system 
after their own heart’s liking, and claim to be just as 
sincere ? Upon these contradictions and discrepancies 
in professed Christian teachers, does Infldelity plant its 
foot ; and the hoarse laugh of man’s great enemy rings 
through the earth in triumph. For, what is the infldel’s 
prominent argument ? Hoes he not point to the mum- 
meries of the Kornish Church, and the discordant, op- 
posing, and fragmentary elements into which the doc- 


DOTTINQS BY THE WAYSIDE. ^37 

trine of sincerity has developed, and ask, in apparent 
triumph. Are these the signs of a Divine Kevelation ? 
Does he not tell you, that professed Christians do not 
agree, as to what Christianity is, do not agree about 
the interpretation of the Bible ? and will they ask him 
to embrace the teachings of a Book, about which they 
are so fully disagreed among themselves ? One sect, he 
says, tells him one thing ; another, quite the contrary. 
He knows that contraries cannot be true. He knows 
not which, who, or what to believe, and therefore he 
ends in believing none, and so nothing! He has no 
conception of the truth ; makes no effort to ascertain 
whether there is a mode by which the truth may be 
elicited. Taught by the latitudinarian school, he dis- 
cai’ds the idea of the Church ; and, seeing before him 
nothing but a conflicting array of ‘‘ churches,” he simply 
discards and rejects the whole, pleading in extenuation 
the discrepancies between the various religious sects. 
And hence, we think, are demonstrated two great facts ; 
that both Rome and Sectarianism are aiding, unwit- 
tingly doubtless, in disseminating or fostering infidelity, 
and that we who stand between these two great ex- 
tremes of Chi'istendom, afflicted, tossed, and agitated, 
by many contentions, should the more ‘ earnestly con- 
tend for the faith which was once delivered unto the 
saints.’ Jude, 3.” 

Byron said he wished that Coleridge would “ explain 
his Explanation and perhaps Mrs. Blemmerton, after 
listening to this dissertation, stood in need of a similar 
process. 

She begged to be excused. She was no theologian. 
She supposed that Mr. L. was right, and understood 


238 THE BLEMMERTONS; OK, 

such matters better than she did. This was at least 
modest. And she would not dispute the point with 
him. But she wished to talk with him about Agnes 
Wallace. She understood that Mr. Lovegood had 
adopted her ; or, at least, taken her in charge, and de- 
sired to send her at once to a boarding-school. She 
was really delighted, that the poor girl had fallen into 
such excellent hands. From all that she heard, Agnes 
must be a very promising girl. have been much 

pleased with her; Mr. Blemmerton especially. But, 
Mr. Lovegood, it would be much better for you to get 
married ; for then you could keep Agnes at home, and 
send her to Madame Fanciful’s school, where Deliah 
Airmyth and Julia Jasper were educated. Madame 
Fanciful is a grand hand to educate girls. She makes 
them so accomplished ; and that, you know, is a thing 
greatly to be desired. It makes girls attractive in so- 
ciety, and enables them' to marry to advantage. And 
in the case of Agnes this will be highly desirable, since, 
poor thing, she will have nothing to recommend her in 
the marriage-market, unless she be accomplished.” 

Mr. Lovegood never thought about her marrying; 
and wondered whether girls were made for nothing but 
to get married. 

“Now,” continued Mrs. B., “there is Deliah Air- 
myth : she has already had a number of fine offers ; 
but we did not exactly fancy any of them. The truth 
is, Mr. L., we think Dele cut out for something above 
the common walks of life. Moreover, you know, she 
has no occasion to seek a match for wealth : that is a 
great comfort ; for, her father is ready to give her two 
hundred thousand dollars the day she is married. All 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 239 

she needs is the right one. And I tell Dele the right 
one will come along after a while ; for, I believe certain 
people are made for each other, as mj mother, who al- 
ways spoke Bible truth, used to tell me, ‘ Matches are 
made in Heaven.’ ” 

Two hundred thousand dollars, — a pretty round sum ; 
quite comfortable in “ hard times pretty good that, 
too, for a poor clergyman. Wonder whether Mr. Love- 
good was dumb ? How many poor clergymen would 
be made happy with the two-hundredth part of it per 
annum. 

“ While I think of it,” said the benevolent lady, “ I 
will just show you a piece of work, Mr. Lovegood, that 
Dele has made for you, as a Hew Year’s gift,” — laying 
a very significant stress on “ you.” 

It was a velvet sermon holder, with a handsome cross 
in gold beads, and a wreath beautifully wrought about 
it on each side. Bringing it in, she continued : “ Dele 
is a girl of taste and judgment; and we are highly 
pleased to see her take an interest in such matters, and 
especially in the Parson. We think it always a token 
of good taste, to see the young folks take an interest in 
the clergyman, especially one who is unmarried, for he 
has no one to prepare such pretty little things for him.” 
Mr. Lovegood thought the thing much too fine for him. 
He did not know what he would do with it. 

Smile, if you please ! But what better could he have 
said ? 

“ O dear, Mr. Lovegood, you must not say so. Dele 
would cry her eyes out. She thinks nothiug fine enough 
for you. Poor thing, she would sit up all night, and 
Work her fingers to the quick, to make it ten times finer. 


240 THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 

if she could. We never had a Pastor that Dele — ah ! 
well ! — thought so much of as she does of Mr. Love- 
good.” 

About this time, we should not be surprised, if Mr. 
L. got a little alarmed. Two hundred thousand dollars, 
a splendid sermon-holder to come at 'New Year’s, — up 
all night, fingers worked to the quick, so highly es- 
teemed, too ; enough, all this, to turn the head of any 
ordinary bachelor. 

Mr. Lovegood was a bachelor ; not, however, we 
opine, so high and dry as to be past cure. By no 
means; he was a man just bordering on his fortieth 
year. Think of it ; and we have been calling him an 
old bachelor. We ask his pardon, and Mrs. Blemmer- 
ton’s too, for undervaluing her better judgment and 
acumen. 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


241 


CHAPTER XX. 

DUCK-SHOOTING. A WILD-GOOSE CHASE, IN WHICH DE. 

EIPEOAEEE WILL PLAY A PART. 

A WILD-GOOSE chase ! Pshaw, what of it ? One half 
of the world is engaged in just such a chase ; and the 
other half is either looking on, or helping ! 

But, we opine, it is not half so pleasant as duck- 
shooting or angling. We never tried a wild-goose chase 
but once, unless it was when we undertook this quondam 
work of writing Life Experiences, and then only got 
terribly scratched and torn with briers, and had a sum- 
mary “ ducking” for our pains. 

But the most pleasant thing in which we ever en- 
gaged, was duck-shooting. When we were quite a boy, 
our father resided near a beautiful, poetic sheet of water ; 
one of those charming rivers which tide up from the 
noble Chesapeake. This little river sweeps through 
one of the most productive, highly improved, and at- 
tractive districts of Maryland. It is a beautiful, wind- 
ing stream, whose banks are trimmed with majestic 
oaks, and numerous other forest trees; and ever and 
anon, as you sail over it, or “ glide along in the light 
canoe,” you behold a fine old mansion, standing off in 
its stateliness, upon some commanding eminence, in 
full view of the riyer, with its time-worn locusts or tall 
Lombardy poplars, standing around, as so many guards 

on duty, looking down with apparent disdain on the 
11 


242 


THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 


Immbler shrubbery and fruibtrees, which dot the yard, 
or, in rows, stretch off to the margin of the river. 

Many a pleasant summer’s evening have I sat in my 
father’s bateau, with a company of three or four more 
anglers, under the shadow of some spreading oak, which 
was cast over the water, seemingly to protect us from 
the scorching rays of the sun ; and there, for hours, 
have enjoyed the sport which was so congenial to good 
old Izaak Walton, of blessed “ piscatory memory.” 

Ah, I remember those days of my boyhood, with 
mingled emotions of sadness and pleasure. They can 
never return. They are gone; and the light-hearted 
boy, who used to linger about thy waters, noble, placid 
little river ! he, too, is gone, far, far away. There is 
but one scene that surpasses, in my estimation, the 
charms of this noble little river, — the striking beauties 
of the Hudson. The Hudson is indeed grander, more 
majestic and awe-inspiring, but not so charmingly sim- 
ple and modest. 

Who has ever passed up the noble Hudson, borne 
along upon one of her splendid steam-palaces, with 
heart so callous to the enchanting beauties of nature 
and art, as not to feel the inspiration of the majestic 
scenery which, on all sides, greets the eye? The 
beautiful village, the exquisite cottage, the granite hill, 
the mimic and picturesque mountain, the blue outline 
of the Catskill, towering in the distance, and almost 
seeming to kiss the sky, the elegant summer residence, 
with its sloping lawn carpeted in green, dropping down 
to the water’s edge, and ending in the bewitching bower, 
where oft at twilight the gentle zephyr, as it comes, 
playfully in its frolic over the water, laden with cool- 


I 


I 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


243 


ness and balm, from mountain, shrub, or flower, fans 
the brow of beauty, or listens to the tale of love : these, 
one by one, as they are passed by the admiring, enrap- 
tured stranger, present a scene, for variety, picturesque- 
ness, and hallovdng meditations, of surpassing loveli- 
ness. 

To be appreciated, however, its scenery must be en- 
joyed, in the full blooming and gushing spring-time, 
when the icy grasp of winter is relaxed, and Nature 
has robed herself in her most beautiful garments of 
greensward and of flower. It is then that the heart, 
keenly alive to the charms of creation, will feel the 
inspiration of nature, as on all sides it beholds the to- 
kens of Infinite Love, the foot-print of the All- wise, 
“ Who hath so done His marvellous works, that through 
them He speaketh.” 

Second only to this, art thou, modest, beautiful little 
river of my childhood ! Would that I could greet thee 
again, with a cheerful song of loves ! 

I will not say to thee farewell 1 
My faint heart could not bear it well ; 

Its wonted use the tongue withholds, 

The eye thy beauties still beholds, 

And fondly yearning o’er the past, 

I hope to greet thee at the last I 
When life’s poor thread is waxing weak. 

Thy glowing beauties let me seek. 

And still, as in the days gone by. 

On thy bosom let me lie ; 

And then, life’s journey being o’er. 

Let me find the heavenly shore I 

Poetizing, eh ? what has this to do with duck-shoot- 
ing? Forgive me, ye sympathetic ones ! These shadows 


244 THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 

o’er the heart will arise. The cloud will pass away, 
and the sunshine come again. Well, duck-shooting! 
There were four of us, who all were good shots “ on the 
wing.” Our fathers and grandfathers used to crawl 
about in ambush along the river’s bank, endeavoring to 
steal upon the ducks of their day. But, in course of 
time, in a progressive age, ducks, like men, grew in 
wisdom, and were not to be caught in that way. And 
we younger ones imitated them ; and what our fore- 
fathers never dreamed of, any more than they did of 
the steam-horse or telegraphic wires, we brought to 
perfection. 

About four o’clock, on a sharp, wintry morning, Sam, 
the colored boy, who enjoyed the employment fully as 
much as any of us, would ‘‘hamp” the old mule, Jake, 
and hitch him to the cart, (sleigh, if there happened 
to be snow enough ;) and, fully provided with ham, 
bread, coffee, sugar, a frying-pan, and a coffee-boiler, 
we jumped in, with guns, ammunition, etc., not forget- 
ting the tinder-box, — for mankind had not then grown 
wise enough to make lucifer matches, — (a bad name, by 
the by,) and a supply of provender for old Jake, away 
we drove for the river. 

We always made for the neighborhood of a fine 
spring, on a creek ; a little way in the woods, we stop- 
ped our mule and cart, and, leaving them in the care of 
Sam, by daylight we had our posts, on some convenient 
point or bar, past which the ducks must fly, to enter the 
creek, in pursuit of their morning meal. Alas ! I 
think of it now with sadness ; for, it seems cruel to 
have thus circumvented the innocent creatures, in their 
lawful and necessary pursuits. Still it was no worse 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


245 


than the mean, skulking plan of our forefathers ; and 
this is some consolation. Moreover, there is little doubt 
that ducks were made to be eaten, and are not to be 
caught alive ; if they were, eating them alive or raw 
would not have been exceedingly pleasant. So we 
salve our consciences, on the score of many palpable 
offences ; and why not on that of duck-shooting ? O, 
ye simpering philosophers, you may eat as many things 
alive and raw as ye list ; but, give us ducks well baked 
and roasted, if you please, with the feathers off. 

Presently, bang — bang! You would hear the sharjD 
report of a gun or two ; and down would tumble into 
the water as many ducks, — for we rarely missed. Old 
Towser would swim in and bring them out. O, how 
ho enjoyed it! It was to him and Sam, who would 
often be pressing through the bushes, ‘‘ the feast of 
reason and the flow of soul.” 

By the time we could re-load our pieces, the process 
would be repeated. And now the breakfast hour 
arrives. By this time, Sam has a fine fire sparkling 
and crackling in the morning frost; we retire to it, 
thaw our frozen fingers, (-w^thaw, as Sam always would 
say,) lay our ducks away in the cart, fry our ham, make 
oui* coffee, and take breakfast. 

Breakfast over, then for the ducks again. But, by 
this time, taking advantage of our absence, the creek 
above us is pretty full, and very few are flying in. 
This renders it necessary to change the process. Ac- 
cordingly, Sam is started up the creek ; and presently 
you hear him screaming at the top of his voice, and 
threshing the bushes as lustil}" as if he had found a 
den of grizzly boars, and were endeavoring to frighten 


246 THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 

them off. And why not frighten bears by such a pro- 
cess ? Periander, of Corinth, one of the Seven Sages of 
Greece, according to ancient story, scowled back the 
advance of a leopard !” and, for aught that we know, 
screamed at him. A similar story is told of the whole 
Seven. And had our Sam met a gang of bears, at this 
time, we think they would have retreated right lustily. 
The ducks did. Up they bounced, and away they flew, 
as fast as wings could carry them ; but, not too fast for 
our shot ; bang — bang — bang — as they passed us, and 
down they tumbled ! When their fright was over, 
they began to fly in again ; and then the process is 
repeated, until dinner-time. Then we pause. Sam 
goes out in a canoe ; and, with a pair of oyster-rakes, 
soon secures a few bushels of fine oysters. These are 
roasted on the fire ; and we make a sumptuous dinner. 
So the day is passed. Towards night, we have a large 
supply of mallards, red-heads, canvas-backs, and as 
many oysters as we desired, stowed away in the cart : 
and then for home. This is duck-shooting in the 
medisBval periods of our life. How it is now, we wot 
not. In an age of steam, there have been, perhaps, 
many remarkable improvements. Man is a wonderful 
being, always making improvements and discoveries. 
And we understand, that our plan has been improved 
upon, like many other things ; ducks are baited and 
caught in a net. 

But what of the wild-goose chase ? Ask your par- 
don ! James Fastidious had been on one for a year 
past ; for, he had been just that long chasing down to 
Dr. Piproarer’s Sunday-School. You remember, that 
the mother of the aforesaid James persisted in taking 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 247 

him from the Sunday-School of the Church, because, 
forsooth, Mr. Lovegood had crossed her notions of 
clerical propriety. 

l^ow James had never been pleased with this ar- 
rangement; (who would be?) and, having grown a 
year older, and a year nearer his own mastership, pos- 
sessed, too, perhaps, of a sprinkle more of the spirit of 
“ Young America,” he had determined to bring about 
a change, and take himself back to his old quarters. 
It must be named, also, as we pass along, that through 
the interference of several malcontents, some twenty 
other boys had been taken from the Sunday-School of 
the Church, and sent to Dr. Diproarer’s. 

How, about a year after the occurrence of these 
events, a remarkable thing occurred one Sunday morn- 
ing, which filled Dr. Riproarer, and all the good mem- 
bers of his Sunday-School, with dismay. 

A fashion had grown up among the boys about town, 
— boys are progressive, you know, and change their 
modes of enjoyment and amusement very often, one 
week we have marbles, then ball, then bandy, then 
cricket, and kites, etc. — of forming mimic military 
companies. Every Saturday, they assembled in the 
suburbs of the city, and passed through the evolutions 
and exercises of a military drill. And it must be said, 
to their credit, however we may disapprove of the 
principle or practice, that they performed their parts, in 
a highly creditable and soldier-like manner. 

It happened, that James Fastidious was the captain 
of one of these juvenile militrjy companies, which was 
composed, in part, of the twenty boys, who, against 
their wishes, had been sent to (as they persisted in call- 


248 THE BLEMMEKTONS; OK, 

ing him) Dr. Eip’s school. On the Sunday morning 
alluded to above, to Dr. Eip’s consternation, as he drew 
near his meeting-house, what should he behold, but 
James Fastidious, and his twenty little soldiers, all mar- 
shalled in order, on the pavement before the door. 

‘‘ What can it mean !” ejaculated Dr. Eip. “ Are 
these boys crazy?” “ Eight about ! face ! — single file 1 
forward! march!” says Captain Fastidious ; and away 

they go, in the direction of St. ’s Church. And 

popr Dr. Eip trots after them, in painful suspense, and 
breathless anxiety. “ Boys ! boys !” exclaimed he, 
“what is the matter? This is the Lord’s-Day. You 
can’t march to-day. You’ll bring disgrace on my Sun- 
day-School.” “ Halt !” says Captain Fastidious. 

“With all due respect for you. Dr. Eiproarer, we 
must say to you, that we are ‘ soldiers of Christ,’ and 
are only marching to our headquarters, om' spiritual 
mother’s home ; and we know not that it is any more 
sinful to go there in a body, than singly ; we are only 
walking. Baptized into the folds of the Church, we 
think we have a right to her teaching, training, and the 
blessed privileges of our baptism. It is in the Lord’s 
service that we are engaged, therefore you will please 
excuse us. Forward! march!” And so they did 
march directly to St. ’s Sunday-School. 

“ Well, well,” quoth Dr. Eiproarer, “ what’s the 
world coming to ? Either to an end, or to the Millen- 
nium.” 

Mrs. Fastidious, as might have been anticipated, was 
highly incensed, and censured Mr. Lovegood for the 
whole transaction. But, as in numerous other cases, he 
was unjustly censured or accused. His first intelligence 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 249 

of the proceeding, was when the boys presented them- 
selves at the door of the Sunday-School, for admission. 
And then he informed them, that their parents must be 
consulted. On Mrs. Nochurch it had the effect to pro- 
duce a fainting-fit. Mrs. Blemmerton thought, that 
those children had been badly ‘‘raised,” and could 
never come to any good end. Mr. Blemmerton thought 
it high time to be looking after boys ; there was too 
much of “ Young America” in it for him. Mrs. Pres- 
byterian thought it a disgrace, and exceedingly unchar- 
itable, and illiberal, and bigoted. Aunt Sally Milk- 
and-water declared, that children did not behave, now- 
a-days, as they did when she was young. 

Notwithstanding all the hard speeches and remon- 
strances which so remarkable a transaction produced, 
the boys maintained their ground ; the fathers and mo- 
thers acquiesced, not very graciously to be sure ; and 
these unseemly scape-goats, as so many considered them, 
grew up under Mr. Lovegood’s pastorate ; and, at the 
present day, many of them are adorning the Christian 
life and character : one is in the Church’s ministry, a 
faithful and efficient man ; and the rest, grown to man’s 
estate, are filling honorable positions in the world, and 
performing a noble part, in their several spheres, as lay- 
men in the Church. 


11 * 


260 


THE BLEMMEETOHS; OE, 


CHAPTER XXL 

/ 

KrTE-FLYING. A FLASH-SCHOOL. 

Kites ! I never knew how to make a kite, though I 
have flown them often. Kites are of various kinds. 
Some have wings ; and some have none. Some have 
tails, but are wingless. Some have neither tails nor 
wings ; and on these last there “ hangs a tale.” There 
is a kite of the bird tribe : this is a kite of prey. There 
is a kite made of pape;* ; this is of the flying tribe, but 
has no wings, while it boasts of a long tail. And there 
is the kite written on paper ; these are men’s kites, and 
are of the utilitarian tribe. 

To give you an idea of this last genus of the kite 
tribe, take the following as an illustration. A. is press- 
ed for the wherewithal to pay his note in bank, and 
draws through his bank, at sight, on B., in a neighbor- 
ing city, and sends him, per mail, a check back on the 
bank that negotiated his draft on B. B. pays A.’s draft 
with this check when it is presented, which in due time 
is returned to A.’s bank, by which time A. has the 
money there to meet it. This system of operating gives 
A. some six or eight more days in which to provide the 
money. 

This is a kite of the banking genus ; and there is a 
good deal of utility in it. Banks are useful things. At 
least A. thinks so. Some call this style of kiting sky- 
rocketing ; but we believe that we have given it the best 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


251 


name, — kiting. It is a high-flying afiair. And often a 
good “ wind” is required to keep it up. This may be 
taken as one illustration of “ raising the wind.” 

How there are many kites of this kind flown. The 
advertising columns of newspapers are, for the most 
part, fllled with just such kites ; high-flying produc- 
tions, that cannot float without wind. Gas, indeed, is 
good for some of them. Indeed, in an “ age of steam,” 
kites and gas seem to be necessary. 

The world is full of kite-flyers. Men and women are 
only children on a larger scale ; and, while boys fly 
kites for amusement, they do it for proflt. In the for- 
mer case, for the most part, it is an innocent pastime ; 
not always, or even often, in the latter. The man or 
woman who sets out in life in pursuit of a phantom, 
and who sacriflces the principles of right, and duty, 
and truth, to the exacting service of the god of this 
world, is unquestionably a kite-flyer. Hor do we ever 
read of what “ Poor Pi chard” said about paying “ too 
much for the whistle,” without having our mind duly 
impressed with its universal application to all modes of 
kite-flying.” 

The Blemmertons had been, all their lives, engaged 
in this (to them) agreeable employment. Even Mr. 
Ben Slocum Sapientium had strung his kite with a very 
long tail ; and now standing out in a stiff breeze, hold- 
ing only the peg at the end of the string, it is no won- 
der if, occasionally, he was lifted from the earth, and 
borne up and down, as the fltful currents of wind, with 
accumulated force, struck the little flying creature that 
floated high above him, and writhed its wiry tail in de- 
flance at him. 


252 THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 

In Mr. Lovegood’s day, not far from tlie city of , 

there lived a portrait painter, whose name was Jeremy 
Kiteflyer ; an excellent name, and apropos at that day ; 
for, the flying of kites was just then coming into vogue. 
And Jeremy, having spent a large amount of money in 
paints and oils to no proflt, not to speak of labor, giving 
up in despair, determined to try another mode of kite- 
flying. Indeed, it was said by some of the spiteful 
ones, of whom the world is full, shame on them, that 
the aforesaid Jeremy had missed his occupation, or, 
rather, like Othello, had lost it ; for his paintings did 
not take. They were always overwrought or under- 
wrought ; they flew too high, or too low. How, who 
does not know, that a painting cannot fly, not having 
wings ? But when a lady, possessed, in her own esti- 
mation, or otherwise, of a beautiful aquiline nose, sat 
under Jeremy’s pencil, and came out all over a regular 
“ pug,” who could blame her for “ flying into a tem- 
per,” and declaring that he was better fltted for flying 
kites than painting likenesses. 

Poor Jeremy! he was in an “ evil case,” and found 
it impossible to please every body. “Madam, it is an 
exact and charming likeness. Just look at the charm- 
ing expression of countenance. See that lip. Madam, 
and eye; how they disclose the glowing thoughts of 
the mind and heart 1” “ La I Sir, — take the ugly daub 

away : I can’t endure it. Look at that pug nose. Sir, 
if you please, and say, was I ever as ugly as that? 
Away with it. Sir! Charming eye, indeed! a half* 
open, squinting, blearing thing; and lips,, as though 
they had been burnt by a hot coal of Are, and were 
drawn asunder by the process.” 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


253 


Perhaps the ladies were at fault, and only desired 
Jeremy to “flatter them,” as a very charming little 
feminine daguerreotypist once said to your ugly scribe : 
“How do you like it. Sir?” “ 0, Madam, it is much 
too good looking ! The thing is over-done.” “ O, Sir, 
I beg your pardon ; we are true to nature. We never 
flatter.” And this, with all the grace of a Yenus. She 
was a regular kite-flyer : so you would say, if you should 
ever see the likeness and the original. But, for aught 
that we know, this was a thing that Jeremy was too 
conscientious to do. His glorious Art was at stake; 
and that he could never think of sacrificing to “ the 
whimsies of the fair sex,” as he used to say. At all 
events, Jeremy came to the conclusion, that the world 
would never appreciate his talents in that line. And 
he was not alone ; for did not an ungrateful world serve 
the great Haydon in the same way, who all his life de- 
voted his almost inspired genius to grand historical 
paintings, without being appreciated? Let this com- 
fort the memory of poor Jeremy Kiteflyer. 

But Jeremy was a man of resources ; and not to be 
outdone by a few “ captious women,” as he called them. 
He would yet make his mark on the world ; hand his 
name down to posterity ; and what was denied him in 
life, he would, like that great model, Haydon, receive 
in death. 

Accordingly, in a mammoth-sheet at that day, you 
might have perused the following announcement, done 
up in a multitude of flourishes and exclamation 
marks : 


254 


THE BLEMMERTONS; OR 


Mammoth Seminary for Young Ladies ! ! ! ! 
Kite-flying House ! ! ! 

Jeremy Kiteflyer, A.M., Principal, Professor of Draw 
ing, Painting, etc., etc. 

Know all men and ladies, by these presents, hav- 
ing DAUGHTERS to be educated, throughout “ the wide 
world,” that the great undertaking has at last been 
entered upon ! Professor Jeremy Kiteflyer, A. M., 
has the pleasure of announcing that, at a vast ex- 
pense, he has fitted up, and opened a Seminary for 
Young Ladies, of the highest possible order, at 
that world- wide celebrated place. Kiteflying Til- 
lage ! I 

Every thing will be taught at this school that is 
of service to mankind in general, or womankind 
in particular : French, German, Spanish, Italian, 
Hebrew, Sanscrit, Arabic, Chaldaic, African, Hot- 
tentot, Chinese, Timbooctan, Choctaw, Chickasaw, 
Cherokee, Norwegian, Latin, Greek, Irish, Scotch, 
etc., etc. ! Also, all styles of Painting, Drawing, 
Dancing, Singing, and Instrumental Music, Organ, 
Piano, Guitar, Harp, Cymbal, Flute, Fife, Fiddle, 
Tamborine, Banjo, Hand-Organ, J ew’s-harp. Whist- 
ling, etc., etc. And also all the sciences, from the 
composition of the most delicate colorings in a 
butterfly’s wing, to the most abstruse calculations 
in logarithms ! 

Parents may rely upon it, that now is the time 
for them to give their daughters an accomplished 
education, never before heard of in this country or 
any other. 


DOTTINGS BY THE. WAYSIDE. 


255 


The Faculty will be composed of the best Pro- 
fessors the whole globe can produce. ISTo pains 
will be spared, to accomplish much more than we 
promise. 

A happy feature in this school, and one well 
calculated to make it popular, is, that the Princi- 
pal, having in view the well-being of his pupils, 
has rented pews in all the principal churches in the 
village ; and they will enjoy the privilege of hear- 
ing some of the most eloquent and popular preach- 
ei’s of the day. And what is better, they can attend 
what “ Church” they please. Being an Episco- 
palian himself, he makes a loud appeal to all other 
Episcopalians, to aid him in this laudable design 
of conducting a thorough Church School. 

Moreover, the Principal has been at the extra- 
ordinary expense, (a thing never before heard of 
in any school,) of securing an ample supply of 
all the celebrated mineral spring waters in this 
country, for the use of his pupils, etc., etc. 

Poor innocent girls ! Ye were indeed liberally pro- 
vided for, in the days of Mr. Jeremy Kiteflyer. We 
have no such schools now : more’s the pity. This is a 
meager, money-making age ; its spirit is too dwarfish, 
to launch out on such a magnificent scale. Poor inno- 
cent girls ! did ye not need mineral water, to brace the 
nerves, when ye got into Hottentot? So the world 
went, in Jeremy’s day ! 

Ml'S. Inquisitive, — bless her pestiferous soul, who had 
known Jeremy all the days of his life, — opined, that he 
never had the honor of receiving a collegiate degree ; 


256 


THE BLEMMEETONS; OE, 


and she desired very much to know, how he got that 
significant handle A. M. fastened on, or “ tacked on,” 
as she said, to his name. 

“ It’s just like them,” quoth Jeremy ; “ they gave me 
no peace when I was painting portraits ; and I sup- 
pose they never will. Bless the pestiferous woman ! 
Madam, is not Painting one of the Arts ; aye, one of 
the fine Arts ? And am not I a painter ? (as the great 
Correggio or Michael Angelo once exclaimed, ‘ I also 
am a painter !’) And does not that. Madam, constitute 
me a Mastee of Aets ?” 

Whew ! Jeremy ! what a mighty kite you are flying ! 
See how it sails up in the ether. Admire its long, 
comet-like tail. See how boldly and grandly it floats 
above. That tail is dangerous. What would become 
of this terrestrial globe should it strike it? 

Flying high, flying low, 

Sailing through the air ! 

Wind and storm make it go ; 

Blow on, ye breezes, blow ; 

Jerry's plan is fair ; 

Jerry’s plan is rare ; 

Sailing through the air ! 

J erry’s school was a liberal Church School : very 
liberal indeed ! It was magnanimous ! 

And when his card duly made its appearance in the 
papers, the thoughtful Mrs. Blemmerfon declared, 
(Jeremy was a distant relative of hers, and whatever 
other acts of benevolence the lady performed, she had 
the good trait of always being on the look-out for her 
poor relatives ; for she said, she did not want them to 
come upon her purse ; she had otherwise as many 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 257 

charities as she could attend to,) having before her eyes 
the future prospects of Agnes Wallace, “ That if Mr. 
Lovegood was not just now ready to marry^ the next 
best thing he could do with dear little Agnes, would be 
to send her forthwith to Jeremy Kiteflyer’s school, until 
such time as he did marry, when he could bring her 
home, and send her to Madame Fanciful to finish off.” 

One of those customary Mulligatawny meetings dis- 
cussed the question. Mrs. Fastidious thought it just the 
thing. Mrs. Fussy, Mrs. ISTochurch, “ and the rest,” as 
Mrs. Blemmerton termed them, agreed to the very 
letter. Aunt Sally wished, from the bottom of her 
heart, there had been such a school in her younger 
days. Had there been, she was sure she would never 
have married Mr. Milk-and-water. As it was, she came 
very near marrying General Crookedlegs, — she was a 
great belle in her younger days, — only, and it was a 
great pity, she was not enough “ edicated !” 

Mr. Lovegood was duly waited upon, and his atten- 
tion called to the aforesaid grandiloquent advertisement. 
The committee of ladies thought it quite the thing. “ It 
was to be a good, liberal, Christian school ; every thing 
in general in religion was to be taught, nothing in par- 
ticular.” And, best of all, Mr. and Mrs. Kitefiyer 
were both Episcopalians; and they doubted not Mr. 
Lovegood would prefer an Episcopal school for Agnes. 
Therefore they had resolved, that it was their duty to 
confer upon him the favor of calling his attention to 
Mr. Kiteflyer’s card. 

Mr. Lovegood glanced his eyes over the exclamation 
marks, and quietly handed it back to the presenter, 
Mrs. Fastidious, with the remark, “ That’s no school for 


258 THE BLEMMEKTONS; OR, 

me, Ladies. I could never be induced to recognize that 
as a Church School. I see not the first element of the 
Church in it. I call the whole thing, from beginning 
to end, a cool humbug.” 

Mr. Lovegood was plain-spoken, that must be granted. 

Dear me ! Mrs. Fastidious thought it so strange ! 
All the ladies were similarly afflicted with amazement. 
They took great interest in poor little Agnes. Here 
was a school of the first class. It was an age of im- 
provement ; and here was an improved school, com- 
bining all the wisdom of past ages, and the improve- 
ments of the present. How they wished they had 
daughters young enough to send ! But, they supposed 
they must yield. They hoped, however, that Mr. Love- 
good would not send the poor little thing to an “ old 
fogy” school. It would be such an immense pity. 

Mr. Lovegood, with all his heart, wished that some 
people had brains sufiicient, at least, to attend to their 
own business, and leave him in the enjoyment of the 
same delightful privilege. 

But, one would have supposed that, after his long ex- 
perience, he would ere this have learned the salutary 
and becoming lesson, that he was not a free man, that 
his business was not his own. What right had he to do 
any thing, without the consent and approbation of all 
his fiock? Was he not hired by them ? Did they not 
support him ? Did not Mr. Blernmerton pay one hun- 
dred dollars, to get a pew among “ the upper tens ?” 
And did not Mrs. Fastidious and Mrs. Hochurch each 
pay fifty dollars, to get one only a notch lower? Was 
it not with their money, that he was going to pay for 
the schooling of Agnes ? And had they not the right 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


259 


to say where she should be sent ? How preposterous 
was it, then, that these ladies should be deprived of the 
just and equitable privilege of directing the future of 
young Agnes’s life ! How preposterous, for Mr. Love- 
good to think of having every thing his own way ! 

It all came of his being a pesty-testy, high and dry, 
self-willed old bachelor. You might as well undertake to 
control a wild mustang. The thing is impossible. You 
have first to noose him, then give him the rope’, and let 
him play around till he is fairly broken down ; then 
you have gently to approach him, holding out the 
tempting morsel of grass, — corn will not answer, for he 
does not know what it is ; then, when he gets a taste of it, 
you are to coax him; then, if you can get near enough, 
you are to stroke him, and pat him easily and tenderly 
on the shoulder, — take care ! stand off! he kicks, as we 
may suppose old Sisyphus did when his stone rolled 
down the hill in spite of him ! — and then, if you can, 
you are to throw a blanket on him ; and then mount 
him if you can ; and then, — ^look out for your neck ! It 
all comes of being an old bachelor. 

As Aunt Sally would say, in one of her happiest so- 
liloquies : “ It takes all sorts of people to make a world ; 
and a great many sorts to make an assortment !” 

And Mr. Lovegood was doubtless one of these. The 
ladies could neither tame, nor manage, nor guide him. 
What he did, will be seen in due time. Meantime, we 
invite your attention to another scene, which will be 
charmingly agreeable, provided it be a hot day ; if oth- 
erwise, you will enjoy it in prospect. 

But, first, we will look in upon a Church School ; 
not a pretension. 


260 


THE BLEMMEETONS; OR, 




CHAPTER XXII. 

A CHURCH-SCHOOL. HAPPY GIRLS. PLEASANT SCENES. 

It is summer ; charming, beautiful summer ! The 
heart leaps up, and delights to be alone, to revel in its 
musings, to meditate with Isaac at eventide ; or, to note 
the parting rays of the setting sun, painting, as it were, 
the robes of Jehovah, in the evening cloud, or writing 
His glory across the sky. 

You must go into the country, if you would see the 
beauties of summer : the birds, twittering in the forest ; 
the cattle, “ winding o’er the lea the insects, chirp- 
ing in the grass ; the waving fields of corn ; the fiow- 
ers leaping into life; all Xature, pouring forth her 
tribute to man and beast, and glorifying Nature’s God. 
Ah ! these are the sights that make man’s heart laugh, 
and sing, and give thanks. 

Go with us then, reader, if you delight in the inno- 
cent, the enchanting, the beautiful, into the free open 
country. * 

In a beautiful rolling district, far removed from the 
whirl and bustle of a great city and the thunder eyen of 
the steam-horse, there stood upon a commanding emi- 
nence, at the period of which we write, in its solemn 
quietude, embowered amid its spreading shade-trees, a 
nurturing home for the daughters of the Church; a 
school of the truest, highest type of what a “ Church- 
school” ought to be. 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 261 

It was a charming spot ; and as sanctified as beau- 
tiful. Wealth, industry, and refined taste had united 
to render the surrounding country one of the most 
flourishing and attractive anywhere to he seen !* 
The grounds attached to the seminary buildings were 
ample, well laid off, and adorned with choice shrubbery ; 
consequently, they were admirably calculated for two 
important elements in the proper conduct of such an in- 
stitution : exercise, and mental and spiritual improve- 
ment. 

We all know something of the influence of the beau- 
tiful in nature, in forming the taste of the young, and 
ennobling the mind. The little flowers blooming at 
our feet, and regaling the air we breathe, are so many 
full- voiced messengers from heaven, teaching us les- 
sons of gentleness, purity, and love. 

The young imbibe these lessons with ease ; it is in 
harmony with their nature, which loves to look upon 
the beautiful ; and, if aptly trained, the lessons so im- 
bibed will be developed in that glowing piety, which, 
in every bursting bud and opening flower, seeth the 
hand divine which lavisheth beauty on all things here 
below. 

The discipline and management of this school, were 
of the highest order. Home and School were so hap- 
pily blended, that the joyous, sanctified home feeling 
was fully preserved, while the mind of the pupil was 
. imbued with that mental and religious training, which 
fitted her for time and eternity. 


« The writer has, in this small sketch, drawn a few thoughts from 
an article of his in “ The Banner of the Cross,” Feb. 15, 1851. 


262 THE BLEMMERTON 8 ; OR, 

Mrs. Densmore, the Principal of the Institution, had 
had great experience in training and developing the 
youthful mind and heart. Possessing, as she did, to a very 
high degree, those qualifications which adorn the head- 
ship of such a work, she was eminently worthy of the con- 
fidence and patronage of the Church. And if to her 
rare gifts as a teacher and conductor of such a school, 
we add those of the thorough, faithful, devoted Church- 
woman, of richly cultivated mind, of grace, piety, and 
sterling Christian worth, manifested, not in the way of 
a sickly, morbid sentimentality, which promises with- 
out doing, but, in the quiet, sober, steady, yet deep, 
practical way of the Gospel, fully apprehended and 
meekly received, as the Church hath gathered the 
same out of Holy Writ, and embodied it in her teach- 
ings in the Prayer-Book, we certainly have all that can 
reasonably be desired, in one who is to train the daugh- 
ters of the Church for their sphere on earth, and for that 
higher and holier sj)here, in which they are to move 
when earth and earthly things shall be no more. Here, 
the infiuence of the Church was constantly brought to 
bear on the pupils. They were trained indeed for the 
Church ; Church teaching formed a prominent part of 
their daily instruction. Ho girl left Mrs. Densmore, 
without understanding, appreciating, and loving her 
spiritual mother. 

A worthy and efiicient chaplain, a beautiful Gothic 
chapel, lifting toward heaven its humble tower ; with 
its rich, chaste, emblematic chancel window, as perfect 
a gem in architecture as that period produces ; the mel- 
low-toned organ, the daily service of prayer and praise: 
these all united in training the young hearts commit* 


DOT TINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


263 


ted to Mrs. Densmore, for the glories of the Church tri- 
umphant. 

It was a home, in which heart and mind were duly 
cultivated, by a course of education embracing the 
godly, the solid, and the refined. Indeed, there was a 
directness, practicalness, and reality about every thing 
at this school, that captivated, not only the pupils, but 
the friends of sound Church education everywhere. 
And this, because it was ruled by love. There were no 
noisy pretensions ; there was no kite-fiying ; nothing 
was done by halves ; it was what it professed to be, a 
real “ Church School.” 

'On a pleasant evening in June, 18 — ,had you, about 
twilight, passed this quiet nursing-school of the young, 
you would have heard soft enchanting music from hap- 
23y voices, accompanying the piano at which Mother 
Densmore, as the girls all called her, presided, fioating 
on the still air. These are the words of the happy glee- 
song that you would have heard : 


O we are happy, we are bright, 

And now we sing ; our hearts are light, 
Toil is o’er, the task is done ; 

Of care and sorrow we have none. 

Come one, come all, and join our glee. 

We’ll merry all the evening be. 

And sing, and laugh, and romp, and play, 
And books forget till break of day. 

The bell will ring, and up we’ll spring. 

And with the lark at dawn we’ll sing ; 

And then to books we’ll speed straightway, 
And study well through all the day. 

Then merrily we’ll sing to-night. 

Because our hearts are very light. 


264 


THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 


Our Mother fond will join our song, 

For she has watched us all day long ; 

And now all care we’ll cast aside, 

And spend a happy eventide. 

And when in prayer we bend us low. 

Up to heaven our plea shall go, 

That our dear Mother may be blest, • 

With cheerful days and nights of rest. 

And when our schooling days are ended. 

All our odds and ills are mended. 

When the parting word is given. 

Still we’ll pray to meet in Heaven. 

Every evening, after tea, tlie girls assembled in the 
long recitation-room, and sang, while Mrs. Densmore 
played, this cheerful little song, before they entered 
upon the evening’s recreation and amusement. Mrs. 
Densmore was always touched to tears, when she heard 
that little song bursting out from the happy, innocent 
hearts of her pupils. O, it was a happy scene ! 

Each pupil, as she passed out into the promenade 
ground, received a kiss and a blessing from “ Mother,” 
and then the merry laugh and ‘shout told of joy and 
happiness in all hearts. 

There you behold a pair of loving girls, arm in arm, 
or clasping each other around the waist, lightly trip- 
ping along the gravel-walk. Some are nursing the 
flowei*s, or admiring their branches, or making a bou- 
quet for “ Mother others are making a wreath of 
roses and jasmine, for they say their dear “ Mother” 
shall be crowned a Queen that night ; others are fes- 
tooning the portico, and trimming the honeysuckle, that 
embowered it, with lights ; some are arranging a plat- 
form, and a large armchair for the Throne. They are 


DOTTINQS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


265 


bent on a frolic. Others are in the great swing, bound- 
ing up and down, as light of heart as innocence itself ; 
one is at the piano, trilling soft notes ; two little girls, 
in a room above, have stolen to the window, and are 
now looking sadly out upon the happy scene. Their 
little hearts are almost breaking. A slip of paper falls ; 
a little girl, glad to do her companions a kindness, picks 
it up, and runs in to ‘‘ Mother” with it. 

“ If our dear, dear Mother will forgive us this time, 
we will not misbehave again. We know we have been 
naughty. But, dear Mother, please forgive us.” 

That is enough. Mother cannot withstand that touch- 
ing plea. And she runs up stairs, embraces the little 
penitents; for a moment, they mingle their tears to- 
gether, Mother and daughters : all is forgiven, and the 
little recreants run down stairs, almost tumbling one 
over the other. 

The Throne is ready; the wreath is prepared; the 
lights are lit. While the Queen Mother is arrayed, and 
led out to the Throne, forty happy voices break out into 
this merry little song : 

Our Mother shall he Queen to-night, 

A very dear Mother is she, 

We’ll crown her with flowers all as bright 
As ever bright can be. 

We’ll wreathe her in roses woven well. 

And she shall look so fair, 

A Faery Queen, we’ll own her spell, 

With jewels we’ll deck her hair. 

And then on a throne she shall sit. 

And we to her will sing. 

See the bower ! it’s brightly lit. 

And now our Mother we bring : 

12 


266 THE BLEMMEETONS; OE, 

Ha, ha, ha ! it is all done, 

Onr Mother dear is a Queen alone. 

A Faery Queen is she, 

As fair as Queen can be. 

Sing we merrily ! 

Merrily ! 

Merrily ! 

Happy Mother ! Happy girls ! Ye are a world unto 
yourselves ! 

On the evening in June, 18 — , on which we sup- 
posed the reader to be passing this nursing-home, all 
the while these little songs were singing, and this inno- 
cent hilarity proceeding, a gentleman with a girl of 
about fifteen had remained, unobserved, in his car- 
riage, at the outer-gate, listening to the song of the 
light-hearted girls. 

A silent tear trickled down the cheek of the girl. 
Her heart throbbed with inexpressible emotions. ISTever 
before, had she heard such happy voices. Hever be- 
fore, had such thrilling music fallen upon her heart, 
except when her dear departed mother sang some 
psalm or hymn, which told of redeeming love, and a 
brighter world on high, from the blessed old Prayer- 
Book, which she bore in her hand, and which now, 
with her old Bible, she pressed to her heart, and kissed 
in rapturous joy, as the gifts which she received with 
her mother’s dying blessing. 

“ Mothee ! Deae Mothee !” O how these words 
turned “ her heart’s blood” into tears ! O blessed Mo- 
ther’s love, still linger about us on our way. Still cheer 
us to the tomb. 

“ And will she be a Mothee to me ? O, will she be 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 267 

a Mothee to me ?” she inyoluntarilj exclaimed, loud 
enough to he heard by the gentleman at her side, who 
had hitherto been absorbed in his own meditations, as 
he witnessed the beautiful and touching scene before 
him. “ Yes, she will,” said he, “ my dear Agnes for 
it was Mr. Lovegood and Agnes Wallace. And tears 
welled up from his heart, and chased each other down 
his manly cheek. ‘‘ Yes, she will. I know she will. 
This, my daughter, — for so now I shall ever call you, — 
is to be your future home, at least for four years. It 
will be a happy home for you. God bless you, my 
daughter. O could your poor, dear mother, now in 
Paradise, have witnessed this scene, and heard those 
happy voices’!” 

Here, for the present, we must leave Agnes. 

If hitherto she had known sorrow, and grief had left 
its furrows on her young brow, let us trust that there is 
a brighter future in store for her ; that flowers, “ bright 
flowers,” may yet be strewn along the pathway of the 
poor orphan. 


« 


268 


THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 


CHAPTER XXIIL 

GOSSIPING. PICTURES FROM LIFE. HOW TO GET MONET 
FOR CHURCH PURPOSES, FROM THE BLEMMERTONS. 

Time was, when scarcely a day rolled away, without 
bringing some startling event to pass, in the great city 

of . But, strange to tell, nothing startling had oc 

curred, in the usual routine of events amongst St. ’s 

congregation, since the time that the juvenile Captain 
Fastidious had marched the hoys to the Sunday-School. 

If the reader will form one of our company, we will 
stroll into one of those magnificent saloons, for which 
the city of was so justly celebrated. 

The dog-days have come ; it is almost too hot for gos- 
siping ; yet, thanks to a plate of frozen cream and a 
glass of ice-water, we can endure a sprinkle of it. Per- 
haps, while enjoying our delectable^ from the frozen 
regions, it may suffice to remind us that summer is yet 
on hand. 

It is now the hour of dusk ; the pleasantest period 
of a hot day in the city. While enjoying our cream 
Ala-mode, tete-Atete, a couple of ladies enter, sweep 
gracefully up the saloon, and take their seats at a table 
opposite to ours. It is unmannerly, we know, to listen ; 
but if ladies will take seats near us, and will persist 
in speaking loud enough to be heard, we know not that 
we are bound to change our seats ; and certainly we 
deem it no point of our duty to become deaf ! 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


2G9 


Tliere is a modem society called “Know-KotliiDgs;” 
a very apt title. These ladies belonged to a numerous 
society, whom, for want of a better title, we shall style 
“Like-Nothings.” The Like-Nothings are a peculiar 
race, much given to fault-finding and intermeddling. 
Nothing is right, unless they do it themselves. And 
yet, alas! they never bless the world by doing any 
thing. 

The secret of their success consists in undoing. But, 
we must permit them to speak for themselves. 

“Well, indeed, Mrs. Nochurch,” said Mrs. Fussy, 
“Mr. Lovegood seems to me to be a strange man. 
When he was at my house the other day, he scarcely 
had any thing to say ; so, I thought I would try and 
draw him out, by praising his last sermon : there was, 
for a wonder, you know, nothing in it about ‘ the 
Church,’ and the like. And what do you think he 
said ? Would you believe that he would not hear a 
word of it, but just cut me short, by saying he hoped J 
would profit by it 1” 

“Did you ever! It’s so unlike Dr. Riproarer. I 
should not wonder if it is that that prevents him from 
getting the D. D. I do declare, I don’t believe I can 
ever think much of a clergyman who is not a D. D. 
It is so much pleasanter to say Doctor than Mr. so-and- 
so, forever. I think all who are not D. D.’s must be 
deficient in some respect. Now Dr. Riproarer seems 
always under so many obligations, when one speaks 
well of his sermons, that it does one good to oblige him 
in that way.” 

“And what do you think,” continued Mrs. Fussy^ 
“my Jane said to me the other day. Jane, you know. 


270 THE BLEMMEETONS; OE, 

is a [Roman] Catholic, and they all are bad enough, 
but I don’t believe Jane will lie !” 

“ O dear, what ?” hurriedly and vehemently asked 
the lady, dropping her plate of frozen ice, as if it had 
been a hot iron. 

“ Well, day before yesterday, Jane says, she saw Mr. 
Lovegood come round the corner, go down the alley 
behind the house, and enter that low, brawling grog- 
gery kept by Pat O’Ryman !” “ O shame ! You don’t 

say so !” exclaimed Mrs. R’ochurch, threatening to fall 
into a swoon, or spasm of horror and amazement. 
‘‘True ! and Jane says she watched until he came out, 
and it was nearly an hour !” “ Did you, in all your 

life, ever hear the like ! What is the world coming to ? 
A clergyman in a groggery ! Only think of it ! You 
may depend there was something wrong going on !” 
“I don’t know; but Jane said, when he came out he 
looked queer ! His head hung down, and he looked as 
though he feared some one would see him. He walked 
hurriedly out of the alley, and went on up the street !” 

“How I do declare,” said Mrs. Hochurch, “that re- 
minds me of what my John told me. My John was 
coming home one night about midnight, a few evenings 
ago, — he had been at the theatre, — and whom should 
he meet right at that corner, but Mr. Lovegood ! I told 
John not to speak of it ; but it’s too late now ! How 
strange !” 

The ladies exchange a knowing look, and heave each 
a heavy sigh. But be not startled ; be quiet, keep your 
seat! 

It was no trifling matter, that Mr. Lovegood had been 
seen to enter a groggery, and also at or near the same 


DOT TINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 271 

place, by another party, at the solemn hour of midnight. 
It never entered the generous mind of either of them, 
that he was doing any thing good. Charity might 
perhaps have whispered thus much. But Charity has 
nothing to do with a clergyman who enters a groggery ; 
nor could she, in the minds of our two ladies, find any 
mantle to cover such a sin. 

Had “ Jane” been properly employed in her culinary 
engagements, and Master John Hochurch sound asleep 
in his bed, instead of visiting that gateway to eternal 
death, the theatre, this wicked piece of gossip and bitter 
scandalizing had never come to light. But so the idle 
and the wicked have eyes, ears, and hearts, for every 
thing but what is good and praiseworthy. 

After that knowing look had subsided into composure, 
Mrs. ISTochurch continued the conversation. “ O dear, 
what will Dele Blemmerton think of that when she 
hears it ! ” 

‘‘ Dele Blemmerton ! La me, what has she to do 
with it ?” “ A great deal ! I reckon they are engaged 

to be married, or near it !” This last was spoken in an 
under-tone, and intended as a qualifying clause. “ It 
can’t be so ! It’s impossible !” said Mrs. Fussy. 
“ Don’t everybody know that Dele Blemmerton is 
engaged to be married to Mr. Slopill !” ‘‘ Well, I don’t 
speak positively, mind you ! But Mrs. Blemmerton 
told me, the other day, that she thought things ‘ looked’ 
that way ! And I’m sure she meant something!” 

‘‘ Mrs. Blemmerton ! Well, I do declare ! People 
are so strange now-a-days ! Why Mrs. Blemmerton has 
all along been opposed to Mr. Lovegood in the Church. 
They never liked him ; never wanted him here ! O, 


272 THE BLEMMEKTONS; OB, 

it’s too bad, after bearing her say all that I have 
beard !” 

I bad ratber not speak of it, but I know Mr. Love- 
good has been there a great deal of late, and Jenny 
McMeddlesome told me, that Dele told her, that she 
bad given Mr. Lovegood a piece of poetry and a beau- 
tiful rose-bud ! And I know, that she bought, at Roun- 
delay’s store, a few days ago, a splendid velvet sermon- 
holder, which she intended as a present to Mr. Love- 
good. And I’d like to know, if all this does not mean 
something ? I know Mr. Lovegood says he goes there 
to see Ben Slocum about confirmation, but that won’t 
do to tell every body.” 

“ Do tell ! Really, between us, I’m losing all confi- 
dence in Mrs. Blemmerton. She is actually deceitful ; 
I do declare she is !” 

Well you know, as old aunt Sally says, ‘It takes 
all sorts of people to make a world.’ For my part, I’d 
rather not say all I know. But if it is a match, Mrs. 
Blemmerton, you may depend, has made it up herself. 
Dear me, she is so crafty, so cunning, so managing ! 
But hush ! I do believe she is coming ! Yes, if here 
ain’t Dele, too !” 

“ Dear me, Mrs. Blemmerton, I’m so glad to see you ! 
and you, too. Dele !” and the ladies kiss all around. 
“La! We were just talking about you, and good too!” 
“I thought so,” exclaimed Mrs. Blemmerton, “my 
right ear burnt so !” “ And where, Mrs. Blemmerton, 

have you kept yourself? I haven’t seen you for a 
week !” “ Ben Slocum’s poor cousin Richard, you 

know, has been very ill for a week, and this kept us 
confined at home ; and, poor fellow, after all that we 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 273 

could do he died yesterday, and we are just returning 
from his funeral ! Poor fellow, he is gone !” 

“Dear!” exclaimed both the ladies, “We never 
heard a word of it. Why did you not let us know?” 

“ Well, you know, it’s a very busy time ; our expenses 
just now are very heavy; and Mr. Blemmerton did not 
think it worth while to have much of a funeral. He 
said it would do poor Richard no good. But O, such a 
sermon we heard, by the Reverend Simon Cobblecant- 
ing, who was a dear friend to Richard. O, you ought 
to have heard it, and the eloquent prayer, and the 
praises bestowed on Mr. Cobblecanting. It was 
preached in the New Jerusalem Church. It’s many a 
day since I heard such a sermon 1” 

That reminds us of “ spouting.” Mr. Cobblecanting 
was a decided “ spouter 1” This is a “ spouting” age, 
and the world is full of “ spouting.” Lord so-and-so 
made a great speech in Parliament the other day, on 
the question of the length of Punch’s ears. Hon. Mr. 
Longsides contended, that Punch has no ears at all. 
Lord so-and-so contends, that he is a decided ass. It’s 
a great question, and the papers ring out the labored 
speeches. The clash of arms is heard across the broad 
Atlantic ; and we are wonderfully edified. 

Mr. Such-a-one died in England, three hundred 
years ago. Mr. Such-a one was a very good man, no 
one doubts or questions it. Out comes a “ spouting” 
piece in the papers, calling upon all good Christians to 
contribute freely to the erection of a great monument, 
or something else, to the memory of Mr. Such-a-one. 
Mr. Such-a-one lives in the memory of the Church or 
nation ; he has a fame as far above stone or brass as 
12» 


274 THE BLEMMEETOHS; OE, 

heaven is above earth. And if he conld speak from 
the dead, he would say, “You had^ better rouse the 
people and teach them to devote their means to the 
spreading abroad of the Gospel of life and salvation !” 

Look at the heathen millions in idolatry, crying aloud 
for the bread of life ! Look at home upon the broad 
domain unclaimed by the Church ; hear the voice that 
cries, day by day, to heaven, “ Thy Kingdom come !” 
“ O send us the Church, with her healing waters, her 
words of love and bread of life !” Hear the wail of the 
suffering Missionary, alone in the wilderness, as he 
stretches out his hands for help, and groans aloud in 
his agony of soul. 

But O, they are not dead ! While there’s life, there’s 
hope! If they die we’ll ‘‘spout;” they are glorious 
Christians ; they died in harness : we’ll build them 
monuments ; we’ll sing requiems o’er their grave. 

It’s all “ spouting ' spout, spout, spout ; speech, 
speech, speech I It amounts to nothing 1 It is “ empty, 
destitute, and void,” as Hooker would say, of any real 
good to the world or the Church. We are full of 
speechifying congratulations, sounding of big guns. 
Weightier issues are cast into the shade. 

Is - it not time to take up practicals ? Is it not time 
to begin to “ spout” to some purpose ? 

Let us draw one or two little pictures. 

Picture 1st. “ If we waited for the Episcopal Church 
to bring them {i. e., the blessings of the Church) to us, 
several generations might grow up and die in heathen- 
ish ignorance.”* 


* New-York Churchman, August 5, 1854, 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 275 

We take this-paragrapli from one of our Churcli pa- 
pers. It was the remark made b j a Churchman, with 
regard to the tardiness of the Church in claiming the 
wide field opened unto her in the great Southwest. It 
is a sore rebuke. Where does it fall ? Upon the chil- 
dren of the Church ! And for them we write. They 
do not supply the means, to enable the Church to claim 
her own, and do her Lord’s work. 

Picture 2d. The Church papers make an appeal, on 
behalf of a College in Canada, and a Missionary work 
there. The appeal is handsomely responded to ; and 
the next thing we hear is, that twelve thousand dollars, 
or more, are liberally contributed to those objects. 
This is all highly gratifying. As a daughter, the Church 
in the United States owes much to her good old mother, 
the Church of England ; and it really does the heart 
good, to see the daughter and her children so generously 
disposed to recognize the filial duty of honoring her 
parent, and returning into her bosom and that of her 
children, (for we all are one family in Christ, and we 
rejoice in it,) even a small portion of the fostering love 
that for so many years she derived from her. 

“ Honor thy father and thy mother,” is the first com- 
mandment with promise.- And it is just as true, with- 
out doubt, of our spiritual mother as of our natural, for 
there is no tie closer than that which exists between 
the family of Christ, the communion of saints ! And 
it is cheering, to see the generous-hearted children of 
the Church, thus fulfilling the sacred duty of cementing 
the bonds of union between mother and daughter, and 
spreading abroad the Messiah’s Kingdom. 

But she who is a daughter has also grown to be a 


276 THE BLEMMEETONS; OR, 

mother ; and, with the spirit and genius of our common 
country, her children have gone out, seeking their own 
fortunes, have spread themselves abroad over this wide 
domain, and, here and there, from every wilderness, 
every hamlet, town, and village, there is a cry coming 
up, “ Sirs, we be brethren ! Help us as the Lord hath 
prospered you ! Send us Missionaries ; assist us in 
sustaining them ! Help us to build sanctuaries ; help 
us to found colleges ; help us to make this fair wilder- 
ness blossom as the rose !” Our children are growing 
up, without the baptismal covenant ; our “ young men 
and maidens” are joining the ranks of heresy or schism ; 
our old men and women, our fathers and mothers, are 
sinking into the grave, without the cheering voice of the 
Priest of the Church, without the comforting message 
of love, without the symbols of the broken body and 
shed blood of the Son of God ! Ye who are wealthy, 
ye whom the Lord hath put in possession of the abun- 
dance of the isles and the seas, and so hath made 
stewards in his vineyard, hear our call ! We ask you 
not to bestow on any less ; but do not quite forget us ! 
Turn us not away empty, when we call upon you ! 

Picture 3d. Mi’s. Fastidious is very busy, arranging 
a ' great clerical dinner to be given to Dr. Eiproarer. 
The noise of the whitewash er and scrubber is heard in 
the streets ; the windows are naked ; the rich tapestry 
curtains, which cost several hundred dollars each, and 
which flash their brilliancy from their gold and silver 
figures, are down ; and the paint-brush is busy on the 
sash and frames ; the velvet carpets are all removed ; 
the brass is rubbed ; the chandeliers are decorated : 
every thing, from the attic to the cellar, is in commo- 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 2Y7 

tion. Mrs. Fastidious in her chamber, is being meas- 
ured and fitted with a magnificent velvet dress, while 
on her head rests a gorgeous head-dress, in which she 
is to appear at dinner, and which sparkles with costly 
jewels, which, so soon as the chandeliers are lit, will 
throw her light far and near around her. She is deter- 
mined to shine by her own light, and not her husband’s, 
as the old law used to read. “ It is very becoming. 
Ma’am ! A beautiful thing, indeed !” And Mrs. Fas- 
tidious' smiles very graciously. A ring at the bell ! 
“ Dear me, who would interrupt me now ? I do wish 
people would — ” 

“ Mrs. Hector, from the country, wants to see you. 
Ma’am !” “ Ah, yes ! Tell her I’m busy ; beg to be 

excused ! I’m fixing for company ; a dinner to Dr. 
Hiproarer ; can’t possibly see her now !” 

Mrs. Hector departs, not, however, without sad re- 
fiections. She has come to town to call, instead of her 
husband, on a few wealthy Church ladies, soliciting a 
few dollars for the building of his little chapel. 

She is an indefatigable woman, not easily discouraged ; 
therefore she determines to seek Mr. Fastidious at his 
office. He is very wealthy, and will certainly give her 
something very handsome ! 

“ Ho, Madam, I’m not able. I have to give so much 
at home. Hemember, I had to pay a tax of two hun- 
dred and fifty dollars, six months ago, towards liquida- 
ting our Church debt. 

Of course, Mr. and Mrs. Fastidious think themselves 
good Christians. Their money is their own. Dr. Hip- 
roarer’s dinner-party cost upwards of two thousand 
dollars. What of that? It made Mr. and Mrs. F. 


278 THE BLEMMEKTONS; OK, 

popular, gave them eclat in the world ; while fifty dol- 
lars to the little church would never have been heard 
of in this world. There would have been no ‘‘ spout- 
ing” about it. 

i7ow, we could have told Mrs. Rector how to gain 
access to the pocket of Mr. and Mrs. Fastidious. How ? 
Get up a “ spouting,” a popular demonstration ; popu- 
larize the thing; sound a trumpet; get up a sympa- 
thetic meeting, with reporters, etc. ; catch them in the 
crowd, and then the money will come ! There’s noth- 
ing for such gentry like “spouting!” If you do not 
popularize the thing, so far as they are concerned, you 
might as well give it up. 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


279 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

A NEW IDEA. A CASE OF CASUISTRY. MR. STRAGGLER, THE 
MISSIONARY FROM THE WEST. SOME DISCLOSURES. 

We should, ere this, have announced the fact, that 
Mrs. Fussy delivered the truth, when she with indigna- 
tion informed Mrs. FTochurch, that Miss Deliah Airmyth 
Blemmerton was engaged to be married to one Mr. 
Slopill. This betrothment had existed for the year 
past. Mr. Slopill was said to be a man of some tal- 
ent in his line; kept a pretty large bacon and feed 
store ; dealt in eatables in general ; and was celebrated 
for good wines and cigars, and patent quack medicines. 
But he lacked energy, and was what would be called a 
“ slow coach it took time and perseverance to move 
him. 

When called behind his counter, by the hasty rap- 
ping of a penny in the hand of an urchin, for a cent’s 
worth of snuff, or a plug of tobacco, though it were a 
case of life or death depending on the promptitude of 
his movements, he would always take time, in the “ of- 
fice,” as, par excellence, he termed a little private room 
in his store, to comb his whiskers, which were quite lux- 
uriant, brush his hair and teeth, and otherwise make his 
toilette. He was never known to be in a hurry but 
once, and that was when he was running away from an 
anxious creditor. 

It was amusing to watch the little begrimed urchins, 


280 


THE BLEMMERTONS; OR 


holding aloft the mighty penny, and ever and anon slap- 
ping it down with considerable irritability on the coun- 
ter, — whack, whack, whack ! as if the wheels of the 
world stood still, while they were unserved, and they 
were anxious to start them. Whack, whack, whack ! 
“ Oh me, mammy is in a hurry ; I’ll git whipj)ed ! I do 
wish — ” “ Be there in a moment !” cries a voice 
from before the looking-glass in the office. “ Soon as 
he’s done his -whiskers!” says another urchin. Out 
walks the veritable gentleman, all done up, elegantly 
combed, brushed, sleeked, and powdered. 

‘‘ And what’ll you hev ?” “ And j)lease. Sir, a pen- 

ny’s worth o’ snuff. And mammy’s in a hurry ; and I’ll 
get whipped 1” “ ’Spose your mammy won’t die for it 

in so short a time ! You made noise enough to hev 
ben a purchaser to the amount of a thousand dollars !” 
says whiskers, rather testily. “And you,” says Young 
America, retiring with the snuff, “ took as long to comb 
your head, as my daddy would take to barbarize a 
dozen monkeys.” And away ran Young America, 
singing Yankee-Doodle. 

Poor Mr. Slopill had to bear it. “ A fig on all chil- 
dren !” said he, gritting his teeth, “ children and babies 
are humbugs; I really wish they’d keep away from 
here. Babies do nothing but whine, and screech, and 
cry, the puling things ; and as soon as they are old 
enough to talk, they are chock full of all evil and abom- 
inable wickedness. That fellow’s head hasn’t been 
combed since the hair grew upon it. A humbug they 
are, every one of them. I don’t know what they are 
made for, exce23t to give trouble.” And so Mr. Slopill 
would continue to scold at the whole race of juveniles. 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


281 


until he soothed his irritated feelings, and avenged his 
insulted dignity. If he was not a misogamist^ he was, 
while in one of these pets, a confirmed child-hater. 

But, withal, Mr. Sloj)ill was rather an agreeable and 
gentlemanly man ; a good deal given to dandyism, but 
quite free from another failing, an over- stock of good 
common sense. Yet, somehow, calculating mammas and 
l)a])as did not altogether fancy him as a brilliant match 
for their daughters : they thought him too inert ; a mere 
seeker of a wealthy matrimonial alliance. While, there- 
fore, he was quite a favorite, with some of the young 
ladies who admired a handsome pair of whiskers', a 
sleek head, trim-fitting kids, boots, and a handsome 
cane, he was far from being popular with the older 
heads. 

Mr. Blemmerton did not fancy him at all ; because, 
when he was a lad serving his apprenticeship at the 
grocery business, he refused to carry a middling of 
bacon home in his hand to a customer. A man or boy 
who was above his business, was not the one for Mr. 
Blemmerton. And we give Mr. B. due credit for such 
a decision. He was right, for once in hjs life, all de- 
murrers to the contrary, notwithstanding. Mr. and Mrs. 
Blemmerton were therefore opposed to Mr. SlopilPs ad- 
dresses ; he was not the man for them. Mr. B. had no 
money to spend in trimming and training whiskers, 
buying scented soaps, ivory combs, gold-headed canes, 
and the like. And when matters came to a crisis, Mr. 
Slopill was forbidden the house ; and, so far as the pa- 
rents were concerned, the whole afiair was dissolved 
into thin air. 

Hot so with Miss Deliah Airmyth and Mr. Slopill. 


282 THE BLEMMEKTONS; OK, 

Miss Deliah having not been trained in the strict 
school of parental obedience, possessed too of a touch 
of the romantic in her composition, determined to coun- 
teract the determination and advice of her parents, and 
continue the betrothment, trusting to time and chance 
for future developments : hence, a clandestine corre- 
spondence was kept up between the parties ; and they 
met occasionally, by accident^ as they would have it 
supposed, at the house of some mutual friend or ac- 
quaintance. 

And here for the present we must leave them, with 
the remark, that in thus acting upon the principles of 
duplicity. Miss Deliah was only developing the elements 
of the false education she had received. 

It happened on a certain day, meniorable in the his- 
tory of that portion of the citizens of the city of 

who composed the congregation of St. ’s church, 

that Mr. Lovegood was invited to dine with Mr. and Mrs. 
Nochurch ; and that, but a few days before the noted 
discovery, made by Mr. John Nochurch and Mrs. Fus- 
sy’s servant girl Jane, of Mr. Lovegood’s entry into the 
groggery of Pat O’Pyman. There was quite an assem- 
blage ; and, among the number, the Blemmerton family, 
all except Mr. Ben Slocum Sapientium. As usual on 
such occasions, the conversation was chiefly of a gen- 
eral character. Mr. Lovegood threw in a word occa- 
sionally, that savored of soundness of speech and whole- 
some doctrine, or otherwise cheered the day by enli- 
vening and instructive conversation. Mr. Blemmerton 
and Mr. Nochurch discoursed of stocks, trade, the 
tightness of the money-market, the latest news in the 
commercial world, and Mr. lleartful’s late speech in 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


283 


Congress, which Mr. Blemmerton thought a decided 
failure, and threatened to discontinue one of his papers, 
on account of its laudations of the speech aforesaid. 
The elderly ladies discussed Mrs. Friendly’s new car- 
riage : one thought it a very clumsy affair ; another 
thought that it would do for her. They also laid plans 
for the latest styles of furniture, and the new furnishing 
of their several establishments. Mr. Blemmerton in- 
quired very particularly respecting Agnes Wallace, Mr. 
Lovegood’s charming little protegee. The young ladies 
discussed the last hall, the forth-coming lectures, operas, 
etc. ; and their several prospects in the matrimonial 
market. 

Mrs. Presbyterian started the only question in casu- 
istry. Speaking in strong terms of condemnation of 
Mrs. Friendly and Mrs. Hopeful, she said she thought 
they had better conceal their faults ; they were so very 
faulty in many respects, that it was really shameful. 

Miss Julia Jasper for the first time heard these ladies 
condemned. She believed, that, if they had faults, they 
were of a very trifling character; for her part, she 
thought them faultless ; still, if they had faults, she was 
clearly of the opinion that they should not endeavor to 
cloak them, and pretend to be what they were not ; that 
she thought would be hypocritical. On this question 
the ladies kept up a spirited conversation ; one espous- 
ing one side, another the other ; one thought it dutiful to 
conceal one’s faults, another contended for the contrary. 
It involved a casuistical inquiry which baffled the la- 
dies ; at last they appealed to Mr. Lovegood, and 
opened the whole case to him, requesting his judgment 
in the premises. 


284 


THE BLEMMEKTONS; OR, 


“ Ladies,” said he, “ I will endeavor to solve your 
question in the fewest possible words. It is best, if we 
can possibly have it so, not to have faults either to con- 
ceal or expose.” Answer the question better, if you 
can. It satisfied the ladies, at least it brought the dis- 
cussion to a close. And it must not be disguised, that 
several of them about that time looked half-innocent, 
half-guilty, as though they suspected him of having 
some hidden meaning in his solution. Whether he had 
or not, is not material. The proposition is a good one ; 
but not so easily carried out to the very letter. 

Tlie day passed quietly away, with but a single inter- 
ruption ; the call of a Missionary from the great West, 
soliciting means to aid in building a church. Mrs. Ho- 
church invited him into a private parlor, informed him 
that she had company, which was, of course, a gentle 
hint that he should make his stay as short as possible, 
profiting by which (on the principle, verbum sap.) the 
good Missionary, like a prompt business man, without a 
long preface, came to the point at once. He was min- 
istering in a new country, in a very promising field ; 
but, as in almost all the new countries, the people did 
not fully appreciate the Church. Besides, they were 
but recently settled, just getting under way, and their 
means were limited ; yet, as far as they were able, they 
were willing to help themselves along, and had done so 
with a liberal hand. Still, after almost superhuman 
efforts at home, they lacked a thousand dollars, to 
complete their cherished sanctuary ; and his vestry had 
requested him to call on a number of the wealthy and 
infiuential Churchmen in that city, to solicit their kind 
offices. He felt assured, that few more worthy objects 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


285 


could be presented to her kindly and charitable consid- 
eration. His church was in the chief city in that new 
and flourishing countiy ; and its influence was destined 
to be felt, not only at home, but all over that vast re- 
gion ; and, therefore, he could not doubt, that, wherev- 
er he went, he should meet with a generous response. 

Mrs. ISTochurch took the Missionary’s subscription- 
book ; and rapidly conning it, reading every name and 
the amount subscribed by each, returned it to him with 
the remark : “ I’m sorry. Sir, that we can do nothing 
for you. W e are poor, Mr. Straggler, and have little to 
give, beyond our charities at home. Indeed, we have 
to pay so much for pew-rent here, that we are able to 
do very little more. Fifty dollars pew-rent. Sir, per 
annum, is a great deal for one family to pay for a pew. 
Mr. Lovegood’s salary is put at so high a mark, that it 
strains us all very much ; and, indeed, it is whispered 
that, in these hard times, it must be increased ; if so, I 
know not what we are to do. 

“ I know it is said. Sir, that we are rich ; but, indeed, 
it is a grave mistake. We have, it is true, just received 
a legacy of one hundred thousand dollars, and had, 
prior to that, about sixty thousand dollars worth of 
property; but this is very far from being a fortune. 
Many of our friends say, that they will account us poor 
till we are worth a million. 

“ And yet, notwithstanding our poverty, we are very 
charitable. I pay my milliner two hundred dollars per 
annum ; my mantua-maker I pay four hundred ; my 
washer-woman, two hundred ; and then the upholster- 
er, shoemaker, hair-dresser, confectioner, these all come 
in for a large portion of our charities. On the score of 


286 


THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 


charity, then, after paying fifty dollars pew-rent, we 
feel entirely clear, and certainly are clear P 

The good Missionary thought that these expenditures 
could not he classed fairly amongst ch^Critable dispensa- 
tions : they were rather involved in the necessary ex- 
penses of a large family and of numerous entertain- 
ments. Thev were expenditures for services rendered, 
value received, and therefore, not to be classed among 
charitable distributions. 

Mrs. Nochurch begged leave to differ from him in 
opinion, very essentially. They were charities / for they 
could, if they would, curtail nearly three-fourths of 
them ; therefore he must grant that three-fourths of 
them, or near it, were charities. For her part, she did 
not know what such dependants would do, should all 
the j)eople in the “ best society” curtail their expenses. 
They would certainly starve ; and, therefore, she 
thought it would be sinful in them to do so. And it 
was as much on that account as any other, that she dis- 
bursed her means so bountifully among them. 

The poor Missionary had never met a case like this 
before. It was a novelty of a rare order. “ Ah, Mad- 
am,” said he, smiling at the happy thought, “ my great 
country opens her rich bosom to all such ‘ dependants’ 
as those of whom you speak. If they should be de- 
prived of the means of subsistence, by the cutting-off 
of their bread here, in the loss of ‘the charities’ of 
which you speak, it would be to them a real blessing, 
if it turned their feet to that mighty region toward 
the going down of the sun, which is ready to open its 
treasures of abundance and pour them into their laps. 
And then, too, perchance. Madam, a portion of that 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


28T 


tJiree-fourths of the whole expenditures of the wedthy, 
that now flow out in such ‘ charities’ as pamper lust, 
and pride, and fashion, might flow in the channels of 
the Church, and become real blessings to the world. I 
have, I must tell you frankly. Madam, hut little faith 
in ‘ charities’ of the class named by you. They spring 
not, I dare avouch, from any love of the poor artisan, 
but from a love of the world, and the pleasures of a 
pampered heart, doating on its own fond hankerings af- 
ter display in the world.” 

Here the good Missionary, seeing his prospects slen- 
der, with a sad heart takes his hat, and is about to 
make a graceful exit, when the lady requests him to be 
seated a moment, saying that a very wealthy lady, a 
millionaire, is in the house, who is known to be very 
liberal, whom she will ask to see him. 

In a few moments Mrs. Blemmerton is introduced to 
the Missionary. She receives his story very graciously; 
informs him that she has nothing with her, but gives 
him the street and number of her residence, and 
requests him to call in the evening, when Mr. Blem- 
merton would be at home, and they would likely respond 
favorably to his call. 

Prospects were brightening. Hope is full of comfort. 
Hope is a golden pillar, set around with jewels, bright 
and sparkling, and flashing in their own light. Hope 
contends with despair, chases away despondency, 
buckles on the atoor of perseverance, surmounts diffi- 
culties, lives in bright prospects and on bright smiles, 
sees through the clouds, looks in to the sunshine. With 
many thanks, and a cheerful smile, the Missionary took 
his departure. 


288 THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 

The ladies returned to the drawing-room, and were 
joined bj the gentlemen in a few moments ; all of 
them, at least, except Mr. Lovegood, who, wrapped in 
his own meditations, sat in the back portico, thinking 
about Heartfulville, his pleasant study, the wrens and 
the mockings, the elms and the roses. 

‘‘ La ! Mrs. Blemmerton,” said Mrs. JSTochurch, “ did 
you read that list of subscribers “ hfo, I did not.” 
“Well, it was a curiosity. Would you believe, that 
Mr. Friendly’s name is dowm for two hundred dollars 
“ I w^ant to know ! That man is certainly destined for 
the almshouse. He’s scarcely worth fifty thousand 
dollare ; doing a small business : only making ten 
thousand dollars a year. Yesterday, a new carriage 
and a pair of horses that did not cost less than eight 
hundred dollars, though it’s a plain, common thing ; 
and to-day, two hundred dollam to go away off to that 
outlandish country.” 

“ And then,” continued Mrs. ISTochurch, “ Mrs. 
Church’s name is down for a hundred dollars ; and you 
know she is very poor. Mr. Happy, Mrs. Charitas, 
Mrs. Hopeful, and Mr. Goodall are each down for 
seventy-five dollars. How, if Mr. Lovegood’s salary is 
to be increased, as they say it is, how much more 
becoming would it have been in them, to give it to the 
vestry for that purpose. But I suppose their money is 
their own : still, it’s certainly very foolish for people to 
be so lavish of their means. They may come to 
want themselves ; and then, if I’m not mistaken, they’ll 
learn a lesson.” 

Mr. Blemmerton thought, truly, it did not concern 
them. “ A fool and Ms pence,” said he, “ soon part 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 289 

company. As to Mr. Friendly, he had long since 
known that he did not know the worth of money. But, 
he was a peculiar man ; denied himself almost the 
common necessaries of life, that he might give his 
money away to every snivelling beggar that came 
along ; built fine houses to rent to mechanics, that 
made them above themselves,* and scarcely paid him 
five per cent, on the investment. But it was no concern 
of theirs ; they need not trouble themselves about it.” 

“ He that giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord.” 
This was an investment that never crossed the specula- 
tive path of Mr. John Blemmerton. His lifetime 
charities were confined to the brief period when he was 
silly enough to allow his own pride to run him as a 
candidate for Congress. He was now fully satisfied, 
that mankind were ungrateful. This was his hobby : 
he had no faith in humanity ; a man’s charities were 
not appreciated. He had no more favors to ask, none 
to grant. He was safe for this world, as he thought ; 
as to the next, he would leave it to take care of itself. 
Alas ! that mankind should so trifle with their immortal 
destinies. 

We have somewhere read a thrilling incident of a 
party of pleasure, in a boat on the coast of Horway, 
who ventured out to the outer circle of the eddy of the 
Maelstrom. It was a daring and perilous enterprise ; 
and perhaps its very peril was the incentive to the tidal. 
Having made every preparation, away they dash, a 
merry company of young men and maidens, through 
the foaming sea. They approach the outer circle of the 
Maelstrom : there all is calm and serene. They glide 
into the enchanted circle, withdraw their oars, and give 

13 


290 THE BLEMMEKTONS; OR, 

themselves up to its revolving tide. Eound the} go ; 
slowly, leisurely, delightfully. All are joyous; all 
hajopy. Tlie merry laugh rings over the deep, blue 
wave. They will enjoy the exciting scene awhile, ply 
their oars, and escape from their impending doom. 
But time passes on ; round they go, circle after circle, 
each faster than the other, each approaching nearer to 
the awful vortex. 

The waters now begin to be slightly agitated ; they 
grow a little uneasy, but it is time enough yet to 
escape. A few more intoxicating rounds, and then 
they will ply their oars. Suddenly there is an awful 
pause ; the merry laugh has ceased ; pale fear sits on 
every countenance ; the cold sweat-drops gather on the 
brow. The waters begin to foam and lash ; and lo ! 
there is the portentous roar, of the dreaded vortex! 
They are approaching that gulf from which there is 
no return. And now the oars fly out, and stalwart 
arms strike for life. But, alas ! too late. That mighty 
tide is stronger than they. That weak boat trembles, in 
every timber and every joint. Each heart is petrified. 
Each eye is set in the glare of death. The revolving 
tide rages, and foams, and roars, and lashes itself in 
its fury, sending up its hoarse laugh in mockery of the 
wail of its victims. They must measure the depths of 
that awful Maelstrom, and be cast away in the wide 
ocean of eternity. 

And how many, alas ! of the children of this world 
are revolving on that tide of destruction ! How many 
of the cliaracters whom we have introduced to the 
reader, are rapidly approaching the dreaded vortex! 
Eemonstrance is in vain. They will not hear the 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 291 

warning voice. A little more pleasure of this world, 
a little more saving to the flesh ; they will close their 
ears against the ominous sounds that fall upon them. 
Round they go ; it is time enough yet ; it is so delight- 
ful; I will bask awhile in the billows, — play in the 
foam, — but, alas ! all on a sudden, they are gone ! One 
long, low wail, and all is over ! 

“ O, set me up on the Rock that is higher than 1.” 
Ps. Ixi. 3. Ah, place yourself in the position of that 
wild party of pleasure ; and then fancy, that before you 
rises a bold rock in its majesty, against which that re- 
volving tide lashes its waves and spends its fury in 
vain. It is a haven of security, if you can only reach 
it. Upon its proud, defiant pinnacle, if once you can 
but plant your feet, you may rest, and laugh at the 
mighty waves that roll beneath you. 

Oh, how those trembling, defenceless maidens in 
that maddened whirlpool would have cried out to the 
stronger arms, “ O, set me up upon the Rock, that is 
higher than I !” 

And this is what we all have, in the great Maelstrom 
of the world. There is a mighty Rock set there in the 
midst of its troubled waves, defying all their furious 
lashings and roarings ; and, throughout the wide world, 
there is a voice crying day by day, and day by day 
does the prayer of the Church Militant ascend to 
heaven, “ O, set me up upon the Rock that is higher 
than I.”* 

This is the Rock of our Salvation, even Jesus Christ. 
Grounded upon Him as He pervades and fills the 


* See the beautiful paraphrase of Bishop Horne. 


292 THE BLEMMERTOHS; OR, 

Churcli with grace and glorj, through faith in His 
Atonement and exaltation in the use of the means of 
His own vouchsafement, we may look out upon the 
waves around us, as from the mighty rock in the Mael- 
strom, and laugh in our security, as they dash them- 
selves to pieces beneath us. 

But, alas ! the children of this world are slow in real- 
izing so momentous a truth. They spend all the day on 
the giddy whirlpool ; and, when the night cometh, there 
is a thick darkness, and they cannot see the Rock : and 
then they cry, perchance, ‘‘ O set me upon the Rock !” 
But ah, late, — too late we fear ; the mists are growing 
thicker ; the lights are too feeble ; the day is gone and 
past ; there is a thick darkness ; who can say that the 
Rock will be found ? It may be, indeed, — ’tis possible 
with God. But who will hang his destiny upon so 
slender a thread ! Hay, nay ; cry while the day lasts ; 
work while it is called to-day ; for the night cometh 
when no work may be done. Work when the sun 
shines, and the glow of youth and life is fresh ; work 
while the voice calls. Come, — O my children, come ! 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


293 


CHAPTER XXV. 

ME. NOCHHECh’s donation TO ME. STEAGGLEE. ME. 

FEIENDLY’s HOSPITALITIES. GOd’s PKOVIDENCE ILLUS- 

TEATED. ME. STEAGQLEe’s PEAOTICAL OONVEESATION 

WITH ME. BLEMMEETON. 

Me. JSTochuech listened, with evident concern, to the 
last-named conversation between his wife and his guestSj 
but observed a profound silence. He was revolving in 
his mind a plan, which, had he dared to speak of it, 
he would have named to his wife ; moreover, he would 
have expressed his deep regret, that she did not inform 
him when Mr. Straggler was ^present. It struck him 
very forcibly, that persons who could afford to give so 
many handsome dinners and other entertainments as 
they did, could, or ought to, afR)rd to assist so worthy 
a cause as that presented by the Missionary. Though 
not a thoroughly instructed Churchman, nor a commu- 
nicant, Mr. Kochurch was a man of good intentions, 
and, when rightly approached, of warm and kindly 
sympathies ; and with a proper help-mate, he would, 
long ere this, have been a consistent Christian, a really 
pious and useful man. 

His wife managed, for the most part, affairs at home ; 
and, unless an application of the kind presented itself at 
his place of business, he rarely heard any thing of it. 
He was pained, and deeply mortified, that such a Mis- 
sionary as Mr. Straggler, of whose good report he had 


291 


THE E L E M M E R T O N S ; OR 


often heard, should be sent away from his door empty ; 
and that, too, on an occasion when they were liberally 
spending a very handsome sum in playing the agreeable 
with their friends and neighbors. 

His conscience was ill at ease ; yet he knew how 
hopeless a task it would be to say aught to his wife.* 
He treasured in his heart a portion of Mr. Lovegood’s 
sermon, the Sunday before, on the character of Lot ; 
that portion, especially, in which he dwelt on the duty 
of entertaining strangers, and ministering to their ne- 
cessities, in which he said, that in so doing, “ we often 
entertain angels unawares,” who are sent out by our 
heavenly Father to minister blessings unto us. Mr. Ho- 
church meditated long and earnestly on these thoughts ; 
and the more he meditated, the more distinctly did the 
path of duty appear marked out before him. Who 
knows, mused he to himself, but that the Missionary 
was an angel of mercy and love, commissioned to bless 
my house. Woe is me, if he hath shaken off the dust 
of his feet as a testimony against us ! 

The afternoon had worn pretty well away ; the length- 
ened shadows of the neighboring houses gave token of 
the approach of night, when Mr. Blemmerton begged 


* The ■writer is giving" sketches of character. Such a character as 
that of Mrs. Nochurch, he rejoices, is rare. He also rejoices in the 
acknowledgment, that to woman belongs every noble and generous 
impulse ; and he thinks that in this work he has given to her the meed 
of just and honorable praise. On that score he has nothing to fear. 
But the rule is not without exceptions ; and it must be acknowledged, 
that, now and then, such as Mrs. Nochurch are found, as well as, 
among men, such as Mr. Blemmerton. We promised to blend the two 
sides of life in one picture, but disclaim any thing more. We aim at 
no classes or creeds in particular. 


DOT TINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 295 

to be excused, to go to bis business. Mr. Eocburch, 
who for some time bad been a little restive, accompa- 
nied him to the street ; and, after a walk of a few 
squares, they parted, Mr. Blemmerton for hisscountiug- 
room, Mr. Nochurch on an errand that will do him 
credit. 

In the eyes of the “ upper-tens,” Mr. Friendly was 
not a wealthy man ; but he always had enough, and 
something to spare for any worthy cause that presented 
itself. If not rich in money, he was rich in faith. His 
charities for the year past had been very large ; for it 
had been a year of extraordinary trials to the poor, and 
indeed to all classes. He had almost entirely support- 
ed Mrs. AYallace, till the day of her death ; the cholera 
had raged with terrible destruction, desolating the 
hearths and homes of thousands, sweeping off numbers 
of his tenants, leaving helpless widows and sorrowing 
orphans, to all of whom he had relinquished their rents, 
and besides had contributed unsparingly to their neces- 
sities. No mouth went unfed, no body unclothed, of 
all who came under the broad mantle of his charities. 

These extraordinary outgoings had indeed absorbed 
every dollar of ready money that could be spared from 
his business. And in addition to all this, his own dear 
wife had been brought to the brink of the grave, by an 
attack of cholera, which had' left her exceedingly pros- 
trated, in very delicate health, which threatened to ter- 
minate in consumption. At the instance of her physi- 
cian, he had been induced to purchase a carriage and a 
j)air of horses, that every suitable afternoon she might 
enjoy a ride in the pure country air. This had added 
largely to his expenditures. It had also been agreed. 


296 THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 

that Mrs. Friendly should take a trip to the Wliite 
Sulphur Springs in Virginia. Every arrangement had 
been made ; and she was bringing her preparations for 
the departure to a close. 

The day before that on which he called on Mrs. ISTo- 
church, the Missionary, the Rev. Mr. Straggler, had 
called and presented his claim to Mr. Friendly at his 
office. Mr. Friendly invited him to call at his residence, 
at two o’clock, and take dinner, at which time he would 
make such a response as he found himself able to do. 
Hurrying home an hour earlier than usual, he presented 
the case to his wife. To him it was one of difficult 
solution. He had only two hundred dollars at com- 
mand, for any purpose ; and this he had been husband- 
ing for Mrs. Friendly’s trip to the Springs. With him, 
it was sacred ; he could not touch a dollar of it. And 
yet how should he deny that faithful and self-forgetting 
Missionary ? — a man who had severed himself from all 
the ties of home and kindred, to preach the glad tidings 
of salvation in a far-off land, amidst trials of ill-health, 
poverty, hardships, and self-denial ! On the other 
hand, the claims of his sick wife twined about his 
heart ; they anticipated such beneficial results from the 
use of the sulphur water, that he had it not in his heart, 
to offer to deprive her of such a benefit. 

“ My dear,” said the amiable and pious wife, “ give 
yourself no uneasiness on my account; this is a call 
from God. Ho not hesitate a moment, as to what you 
are to do with that money ; the silver and the gold are 
the Lord’s ; give it unto Him ; His blessing is more to 
be desired than all else. Were I to refuse that poor 
Missionary, I should feel that I had refused the Saviour, 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 297 

slighted His cause ; and then how could I ask his bless- 
ing ? Ho, my husband, let me never, in my own 
wants, forget the wants of others ; let me never, in con- 
tributing to my own comfort, forget the cause and the 
glory of Him, who, for my sake, became poor, and 
humbled, and despised on the earth.” “That is like 
my dear, good wife !” exclaimed Mr. Friendly, as the 
tears welled up in his eyes, and he pressed her to his 
heart, imprinting a kiss on her wan, but smiling cheek. 

The missionary was cordially received, kindly enter- 
tained, and urged to make that his home during his 
stay in the city ; nor did he ever know the self-denial 
that that happy family made, to cheer his heart, and set 
forward the Hedeemer’s Kingdom. 

Had the little dinner party of the next day known 
all, they would likely have been more profuse in their 
comments on the folly of Mr. Friendly and his excel- 
lent wife. But the Lord knoweth how to reward them 
that are true of heart ; and no good thing will He with- 
hold from them that love Him. Commit thy way unto 
the Lord, and he shall give thee thy heart’s desire. 
By an apparent freak in the business world, which is by 
no means uncommon, a sudden rise in a particular 
article in IVH- Friendly’s business, placed him in pos- 
session of a surplus of six hundred dollars. 

As usual, he was greeted by his wife, at night, with a 
bright and cheerful smile ; and he pressed her to his 
bosom, his vrhole frame trembling with emotions of 
joy : “ You were right, my dear. The Lord will pro- 
vide. You shall go to the Springs, and, better than all, 
your dear husband will now accompany you.” Hever 
did any give up any thing unto the Lord, without find- 
13« 


298 THE ELEMMEETONS; OE, 

ing a reward. ‘ The merciful goodness of the Lord 
endureth for ever and ever upon them that fear Him ; 
and Ilis righteousness upon children’s children ; even 
upon such as keep His covenant, and think upon 
His commandments, to do them,’ Ps. ciii. lY, 18. 
And so they did go to the Springs, where they 
spent two months ; and they returned in the Autumn, 
with the blessing of restored health to the grateful 
wife. 

But it is time to return to the dinner party. After 
Mr. Blemmerton and Mr. Hochurch retired, the ladies 
called Mr. Lovegood from his meditations, and scolded 
him a little, for so long depriving them of his company. 
He made due apologies, excusing himself on a score of 
a lack of gallantry ; he knew his deficiencies in that 
respect, and anticipated an easy and merciful verdict. 
At this the ladies seemed to be particularly amused, 
especially because, as one of them remarked, Mr. 
Lovegood was a gentleman of such rare, diversified 
talents, that he could not, if he tried, fail to make him- 
self remarkably agreeable everywhere. 

The remainder of the afternoon wore along, as pleas- 
antly as might have been anticipated. Mr. Lovegood 
was a little fidgety. Being out of his -element, he 
longed to be in his study with his books ; but he; knew not 
how to excuse himself at so early an hour. The ladies 
played and sang a few tunes ; Miss Dele, with a good 
deal of feeling, sang the ‘‘ Happy Wife,” and “ Home, 
sweet Home.” Mrs. Hochmxh often went to the win- 
dow, and cast her eye down the street ; returning, she 
would give a knowing wink to Miss Dele, who seemed 
to be altogether innocent of its meaning. At last it had 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


299 


been repeated so often, that some one of the company 
asked her whom she expected. 

With a very bland, bnt significant smile, and wink- 
ing again at Miss Dele, she remarked, in a negligent 
way, that she did not know, bnt she thought Mr. SI opill 
might possibly call in. She knew that -Mr. Slopill 
would not think of such a thing while Mrs. Blemmer- 
ton was present, for they were not “ on terms.” 

Miss Dele desired to know why Mrs. Nochurch 
looked at her. ‘‘ Now, Dele !” exclaimed the lady, 
“ are you not ashamed ?” “ No, indeed I’m not,” said 

she, with affected indignation. “ And it’s high time 
that old stale story had come to an end. Mr. Slopill is 
nothing whatever to me.” 

Mr. Lovegood, being a matter-of-fact man, was some- 
wdiat surprised to hear this, as he had heard the current 
gossip, that Miss Dele and Mr. Slopill were betrothed. 
It baffled him, notwithstanding he understood the con- 
ceded prerogative of young ladies to deny such stories ; 
beca^use it comported not with the character of a se- 
rious person, as Mrs. Blemmerton had represented 
her daughter to be, — a candidate for the honorable 
post of a Sunday-school teacher, and one ardently de- 
sirous of becoming a candidate for confirmation. 
Therefore, with some surprise, and in a tone mani- 
festing a strong presumption of doubt, he said, “ I am 
surprised. Miss Blemmerton, to hear you speak thus ; 
and I must say, that, notwithstanding the preroga- 
tive conceded to young ladies in such topics, it is bet- 
ter in some instances to be silent, than to commit one’s 
self—” 

What he would have added, we know not ; for Miss 


300 THE BLEMMEKTONS; OR, 

Dele cut the conversation short, with the observation, — 
“ Indeed, Mr. Lovegood, you are greatly mistaken. In 
serious earnestness, and I hope you believe me, and 
shall be offended if you do not, there is no betrothment 
now between me and Mr. Slopill ; and mother knows 
it !” Mr. Lovegood was gallant enough not to disbe- 
lieve the solemn asseveration of a lady ; and there the 
matter rested. A little while after, a suitable time having 
arrived, he was glad of an excuse to retire. And indue 
time the company all dispersed, 

“ What a strange moment will that be, 

My soul, how full of curiosity, 

When winged and ready for thy eternal flight. 

On the utmost verges of thy tottering clay 
Hovering, and wishing longer stay. 

Thou shalt advance, and have eternity in sight ! 

When just about to try that unknown sea. 

What a strange moment shall that he /” 

Norris of Bemerton : quoted from Burnet's Lives. 

And now, if you follow Mr. Hochurch, from, the 
moment that he parted company with Mr. Blemmerton, 
you will find him going from hotel to hotel, in search of 
the Missionary, the Eev. Mr. Straggler, diligently exam- 
ining all the registers, in pursuit of his stopping-place. 
He has already inquired at a dozen of the principal 
hotels, without success. There is but one more he 
thinks it necessary to inquire at; thither he bends his 
steps, opens the register, finds the name, but written 
after it in pencil, ‘‘ Gone to Mr. Friendly’s.” On inquir- 
ing, he found that Mr. Straggler had that day removed 
to Mr. Friendly’s. He returned to his office, and pen- 
ned a brief line to the Missionary : 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


301 


“ Eev. Sir : — Please find enclosed $25, in aid of your 
work. 

“ I regret not meeting you, when you called at my 
house to-day ; but hope it is not too late to do good. 

“ Yery faithfully, etc. 

“ Eev. Mr. Straggler. W. Eochurch.” 

Mr. Straggler was surprised, when he opened the 
note, to find so liberal a donation from that house, and 
rightly surmised that Mr. Nochurch had not approbated 
the course of his wife. With his pencil he marked the 
donation in his book, and after tea repaired to Mr. 
Blemmerton’s. 

Here a very different reception awaited him. Mrs. 
Blemmerton, who appeared so fascinatingly gracious 
and condescending in the morning, did not show her- 
self at all. And Mr. Blemmerton, appearing to be in 
a particularly bad humor, informed him that he had 
been very unfortunate that day. He had entered into 
a contract to furnish a large quantity of a certain arti- 
cle, at a specified price ; and, while dining out, intelli- 
gence had been received in the city, which caused a 
sudden advance in it, and being obliged to buy at the 
advanced price and sell by his contract, he had lost by 
the operation about six hundred dollars, which had gone 
into the pockets of old Mr. Friendly, — a man to whom 
it would be of no service, as he did not know the worth 
of money. “ So much,” continued he, “ for a man’s 
not being always at his post ; for, had I been at my 
counting-room, I could as easily as not have made the 
purchase of Friendly, before he got intelligence of the 
rise. But it serves me right, I doubt not. 


e302 THE B LEM ME R tons; OR, 

“And yon are begging for a clmrcli in , are 

you? Yes, I heard all about it. But, Sir, I must beg 
to be excused for not contributing to such an object. 
There are so many beggars now-a-days, that one can 
scarcely keep a dollar in one’s pocket. I gave away live 
thousand dollars last year, and got no thanks for it. And 

as to giving money to build a church in , it is quite 

out of the question. I might as well throw it away at 

once. What do they want with a church in ? It is, 

I understand, filled up with horse-thieves, cut-throats, and 
robbers ; and what do they care about the gospel ? It 
is certainly useless, to send-the gospel to such people.” 

“ Beg your pardon, Sir,” said Mr. Straggler, with be- 
coming dignity, “ I did not suppose I should be quite 
accounted a beggar, in calling on wealthy Churchmen 
to aid a weak and struggling parish, to build a house 
unto the Lord. With that, however, I am content, if 
so be, I may but succeed. It is no disgrace nor dis- 
paragement to me, to share in the lot of Him who was 
poor, despised, and homeless on the earth. 

“ But you must stand corrected, Mr. Blemmerton, in 

one respect. is not made up, as you suppose, of 

the vile of the earth. That there are bad men in my 
State, I will not deny ; and I am sorry to say they abound 
everywhere. I doubt whether your great city can boast 
exemption from them. We have, however, one conso- 
lation ; the bad men in our State were not reared there ; 
they came from the older States ; even your own State, 
Sir, produced not a few of them. But, take our citi- 
zens as a whole, there is not a more intelligent, active, 
industrious, law-abiding people in this country. 

“ And yet. Sir, suppose I could admit the truth of 


BOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


808 


your proposition, that the citizens composing my State 
are a set of thieves, cut-throats, and renegades, would 
it not prove the reverse of your assertion? Would it 
not be so much the more my duty, to preach the gospel 
of glad tidings among them ; and yours, to contribute 
unto its dissemination, that peradventure they might be 
brought unto repentance and a better mind, and re- 
claimed from their wickedness? For, remember, our 
blessed Lord came not to call the righteous, but sinners 
to repentance. And His gracious invitation is, ‘ Come 
unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I 
will give you rest.’ ” 

“ Ha ! ha ! ha ! that is a pretty ’cute argument of 
yours, Mr. Straggler; a good argument, Sir! and I’ll 
give you thfee dollars for it, for it’s worth every penny 
of it.” So saying, Mr. Blemmerton walked into an ad- 
joining room, brought out the three dollars, which, hand- 
ing to the Missionary, he took out his subscription book 
and was about to enter it, when Mr. B. requested per- 
mission to examine it. 

“ Mr. ISTochurch, twenty-five dollars 1” exclaimed he ; 
“ after the conversation to-day ! so strange, so wonder- 
ful ! Some people will always be fools 1 Do not put 
my name down. Sir. Ho, Sir, I have no such vanity; 
besides, I rarely give in this way. I wait for the plate 
to come round in church. That I think the legitimate 
way to give ; and then I always contribute. Don’t put 
my name down. Sir ; enter it cash. I didn’t care for any 
one to know what I give. And bear in mind, if you 
please, that I give the three dollars as a reward to your 
acuteness, and not because I think that much of the 
people of your State. I have heard some curious sto- 


304 THE B LEM MEET ON s; OK, 

ries from that country. It is a great place for seeing 
elephants, mustangs, grizzly bears, wolves, and the like, 
I believe; and you like it, do you. Sir?” “Yes, Sir; 
because, I suppose, according to your estimate of it, I 
like misery !” 

“ Pray, Sir, tell me whether I am not right in my rec- 
ollections of reading some of the Journals of your Di- 
ocesan Conventions, some years ago, in which there ap- 
peared some very amusing parochial reports. One, if I 
remember aright, read somehow in these words : ‘ Mat- 
ters are proceeding as usual in my parish ; every thing 
is prosperous, and we have a good hope for the future. 
Of the two communicants last reported, one lias died 
and the other removed.’ Another : ‘ After six years 
of indefatigable toil and anxiety, we have at last suc- 
ceeded in raising a vestry, and now we are fully organ- 
ized, signs are brightening wonderfully, and we trust 
now to move on with rapid strides.’ I see little utility. 
Sir, as I said before, in sending money to build churches 
among such a people. It won’t pay. Sir, you may de- 
pend ; I had better contribute to some of the needy 
charities nearer home.” 

“ It is well. Sir, for you to look at home, and I hope 
you wdll liberally carry out that view. But, Sir, your 
jests fail of point, since they have no application in the 
Diocese to which I belong. You never read them in 
its parochial reports ; you may have found them in the 
journals of some of the older dioceses. The Church in 
my diocese is weak ; but, one soul is of more worth 
than all the wealth and magnificence of your great city 
combined, and I would cheerfully labor all the days of 
my life in , to save one soul from eternal ruin. 


DOTTINGS BY THE' WAYSIDE. 


305 


And now, Mr. Elemmerton, do you think you have yet 
received the worth of your three dollars? If not, I 
will remain until you take it all out in such wares.” 
“ O yes. Sir ! I gave it freely. Sir, but would be pleased 
to have a little more of your company. Your people 
are very hospitable, are they not. Sir ?” 

“ Yes, Sir, such is their general character, and I be- 
lieve they deserve it. Hospitality is indicative of a 
good heart ; and no people I think can be ranked in so 
low a scale of humanity, as you are disposed to class the 
people of my State, who live in the daily exercise of 
such a virtue.” “ Could you give me an illustration, 
Sir?” 

“Yes, Sir, and a contrast if you like. A number of 
years ago, duty obliged me to take a journey, by stage, 
of about one hundred and fifty miles, to the capital of 
my State. The first day, we made about fifty miles, 
and lodged all night at a hotel on the road. Early in 
the morning, we got off ; and, after proceeding about 
thirty miles, I discovered that I had left my gold watch, 
the valuable and valued gift of a very dear friend, under 
my pillow at the hotel where I had lodged. In an 
hour’s ride, we reached the next hotel on the road. 
As we approached, I saw in a field a few rods off, a 
gentleman whom I had never met, and with whom I 
had no personal acquaintance, who was engaged with 
his hands in his farming operations. While we tarried 
for dinner, he walked over to the hotel and I made his 
acquaintance. In the course of conversation, I informed 
him of my misfortune; just then, the return stage drove 
up. He called a servant from his plough in the field, 
told him my story, ‘ And now,’ said he, ‘Bill, do you 


306 


THE BLEMMERTONS; OK, 


take the stage, and go back to Gunter’s, and get this 
gentleman’s watch.’ I protested that it \vas too much 
for him to do, but it was useless ; neither would he per- 
mit me to pay Bill’s fare, nor even make him a present ; 
he did all this himself. 

“ After dinner, we proceeded on our journey. I 
reached my destination. The Legislature was in ses- 
sion. On the third day after my arrival, I was stand- 
ing, about midday, in the hall of the State House, 
looking down the avenue that led to it, when I beheld 
the gentleman walking up, my big watch- seal dangling 
at his side. Think of it. Sir. He had sent his servant 
a journey, at a heavy expense, and now had taken one 
himself, all out of kindness to a stranger.” 

“ But what has that to do with hospitality ?” “ Hear 

me out, Sir. ‘ Sir, I am under very many obligations 
to you ; how can I sufficiently show my gratitude ? 
What am I to pay. Sir ? Surely, you will permit me 
to pay Bill’s expenses. Sir ?’ 

“ ‘ Ho, Sir, not one cent. But I have a charge to 
make against you. Sir.’ ‘ O, Sir, do say what it is ; I 
shall be too glad to comply with it if in my power.’ 

‘ That you call on your return homeward^ and sj>end 
three months with me P ” 

“And did you do it. Sir?” exclaimed Mr. Blern- 
merton. “He excused me with three weeks; and I 
never spent so pleasant a time, in my life ; and when 
it expired, he sent me home in his own carriage. 
This will give you an idea of the hospitality of my 
State.” 

“ And what of the contrast, Sir?” “ Ah ! I can give 
you a couple of them, if you wish. Take the least first. 


DOT TINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 307 

I was on a visit to a friend ; in what part of the world 
I need not name. About night, a carriage drove up, 
and a very intelligent lady and gentleman alighted, 
who proved to be Mr. and Mrs. Tighter, from a village 
some fifty miles off. They were exceedingly delighted, 
once more to see their friends, Mr. and Mrs. Hearty, 
with whom I was staying. Mr. and Mrs. Hearty re- 
ceived them very kindly, and entertained them hospita- 
bly. They had not met before, for a number of years. ' 
Mr. and Mrs. Tighter were taking something of a pleas- 
ure trip, and going on a visit to some distant relatives, 
and had taken Mr. and Mrs. Hearty’s home in the way. 
It was pleasant for old acquaintances thus to meet ; and 
our hosts played the agreeable, very handsomely. The 
carriage was put away, the horse cared for, and our 
friends passed a delightful evening. After breakfast 
the next morning, several bandboxes "were brought in, 
and Mrs. Tighter opened one and displayed several 
handsome bonnets. She had just taken them along, 
she said, on sale. She thought some of her friends 
might want a handsome bonnet, and it would assist in 
paying expenses; she asked but a very small profit. 
Mrs. Hearty of course had to buy a bonnet for sake of 
‘ auld lang syne,’ paying therefor a dollar more than she 
could have procured it for in the nearest village.” 

Mr. Blemmerton is getting a little fidgety. “The 
trade being over,” continued the Missionary, “ the car- 
riage drove up, Mr. and Mrs. Tighter took a hearty 
leave, urging Mr. and Mrs. Hearty to pay them a visit. 

‘ Tighterville,’ said Mrs. Tighter, ‘ is, as you know, a 
most charming place, — indeed the most charming you 
ever saw ; and I can assure you, that there is one of the 


308 THE BLEMMEETONS; OE, 

best hotels there the conntiy can produce. O you 
would spend such a delightful time ; do come.” 

Mr. Blemmerton gives'the Missionary an icy look. 

He continues, ‘ “ A friend of mine returned to his 
native land to get married. Of course he put up at the 
village hotel, whose proprietor, it seems, had married 
the sister of his intended wife. This gentleman was 
very wealthy, had amassed a fortune by hotel-keejDing. 
My friend remained at the hotel, until the day of mar- 
riage, paid his bill, and removed his baggage to his 
father-in-law’s. After spending a week or so, the time 
arrived for him to take his bride to her new home. 
The carriage was at the door, the baggage lashed on 
behind, the bride and groom in, the whip cracks, and 
they are about to drive off, when the brother-in-law, the 
hotel-keeper, in breathless anxiety came running up, 

‘ Stop ! stop ! stop !’ exclaimed he ; ‘ here, Mr. , a 

little mistake, a slight omission, I forgot it in your bill, 
eighteen jpence for washing three shirts? ” 

By this time, Mr. Blemmerton was properly roasting 
with his own choler. The Missionary, thinking that he 
had given him the worth of his money, retired ; and 
we opine, that Mr. John Blemmerton dislikes all mis- 
sionaries. Hor are we surprised at it ; his three dollars 
gone, foiled in his witticisms, and cut adrift, on his own 
uncomfortable reflections. All this was quite sufficient 
to render him taciturn, peevish, and unhappy. 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


309 


CHAPTER XXY. 

SHOWING AGNEs’ PROGRESS AT MRS. DENSMORe’s. SOME- 
THING MORE ABOUT MR. BEN SLOCUM, DR. RIPROARER, 
AND DR. SKYROCKET. 

We have paused to give neither day nor date as we 
have proceeded. The events already related cover a 
series of years. Agnes Wallace has been upwards of 
two years at Mrs. Densmore’s school ; has made rapid 
progress ; and has become a universal favorite with the 
household. Mrs. Densmore’s ' monthly reports to Mr. 
Lovegood, of her progress, are highly gratifying; 

every thing in St. ’s congregation appears to be 

quiet and prosperous. Mr. Lovegood remains in total 
ignorance of the disgraceful reports that are floating 
about town, in regard to himself. 

It has for a long time been rumored, that he and Dele 
Blemmerton are to be married. She denied it, on all 
occasions ; but the knowing ones did not give her credit 
for speaking the truth. Every body said it was so ; and 
what every body says must be true. 

The ugly alley matter, too, has eked out, which is 
corroborated by John Fussy’s story. These reports 
gained strength and received additions, as they passed 
from one to another; and they were fast gathering into 
a portentous cloud, which threatened to create a deluge. 
Each of the busy-bodies added to the original story, 
until it was magnified beyond the most sanguine antici- 
pations of the original inventors. 


310 THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 

Mr. Lovegood, it was said by one, had been seen 
coming from the, theatre at midnight ; had been seen 
standing at a suspicious corner ; coming out of an alley ; 
going into a groggery. Some were not sure that he 
had not been seen lying in a gutter; others were quite 
certain, that he had been seen in a state of intoxication. 
Some, of course, glad to get any thing against a clergy- 
man, believed, or pretended to do so, all these reports ; 
others treated them as they deserved, giving them no 
credit whatever. 

Poor Mr. Lovegood was certainly getting into an 
uncomfortable predicament ; but he was as profoundly 
ignorant of it all as an infant. He was about to be 
married, without his knowledge or consent ; his gown 
was about to be taken off, on account of his drunkenness 
and a hundred other offences, of which he was just as 
innocent. 

We pause not to draw a full picture of all that was 
said or done ; how inquiries were made, surmises 
founded, reports corroborated. The great Book of 
Life’s Experiences has many a dark and darkened page, 
written in gall and tears of blood, and blotched all over 
with venom on such topics : let that suffice. 

The Blemmertons, as it appeared to suit their interests, 
observed a profound silence ; if they took sides at all, 
it was thought they rather favored Mr. Lovegood. 
Mrs. Blemmerton gave Mrs. Fussy a hint, that if these 
reports were true, Mr. Lovegood could never marry 
Deliah Airmyth ; that was a settled point. But she 
could not believe they were true, although it looked 
suspicious : there was so much smoke, she feared there 
must be some fire. 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


311 


And here we must take up the thread of the history 
of Mr. Ben Slocum Sapientium. After the conversa- 
tion, recorded in a former chapter, between him and 
Mr. Lovegood, in which, it will be remembered, he 
placed himself under Mr. Lovegood’s guidance as a 
candidate for confirmation, Mr. Ben Slocum threw 
himself in the way of a Presbyterian Elder, at whose 
house Sally Fastidious was a frequent visitor, and re- 
ported to him the purport, as well as he could, of the 
conference between himself and Mr. Lovegood. The 
elder rubbed his hands in an ecstasy of delight. It 
was the sweetest nut he had cracked for many weary 
years. 

He readily gained Ben’s consent, to bring the matter 
to the notice of Dr. Piproarer ; and it was agreed, that 
an appointment should be made for him to meet Dr. 
Riproarer, at the house of the elder that evening, at 
which time and place Mr. Slocum was to make an 
exhibit of all the books that had been placed in his 
hands by Mr. Lovegood. True to the appointment. Dr, 
Riproarer was in place ; and Ben appeared with his 
books. Dr. Rip examines them, one by one. 

“ Just as I expected,” said he, “ all on the uncharita- 
ble, unchurching order. Beaven’s Help to Catechising. 
Well, I don’t know much about that. Wilson on Con- 
firmation. Ah, ha! the Church system! — Confirma- 
tion, eh ? — what flummery ! Ha ! Percival on the 
Apostolic Succession. Hobart’s Apology. Hoj humph ! 
All pretty books to make a man a Christian. Mr. 
Benjamin Slocum Sapientium, T must say to you in all 
charity, that if you read these detestable books, you 
might as well go and be a ‘‘ Catholic ” at once. For 


312 THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 

Confirmation and the Apostolic Succession both are 
held by the Catholics ; and if you are going to be a 
Catholic, go and join them at once. Away with such 
trash ! You have been attending my church ever since 
you were a little boy, and you have never heard any 
thing about such stuff.” 

Dr. Riproarer never uttered a more sublime truism 
in his life, than that last sentence. Mr. Slocum had 
never heard any thing about such “ stuff,” from his 
pulpit. But we opine, if he could work up a little 
rnoi’e of such “stuff” as he calls it, in his system, 
he would be able to draw a distinction between Ro- 
manism and Catholicism, and it would savor a little 
more of the true Catholic and Apostolic Doctrines. 
If Dr. Rip’s argument, that Apostolic Succession and 
Confirmation ought to, be rejected, because Rome 
holds them, be good, for consistency’s sake, he ought 
also to reject the Bible, and Prayer, and Praise, and 
the Sacraments, and Preaching, because Rome holds 
them. 

But this was not the only “stuff” Mr. Slocum had 
failed to hear from Dr. Rip’s pulpit ; or, if he ever had 
heard it, he had not the mind to grasp it. Dr. Rip’s 
high-toned Calvinism, absolute, unconditional predesti- 
nation to eternal life or death ; had he heard it, and 
possessed ordinary powers of ratiocination, he would 
never have sought such a guide in spiritual things, on 
the principle that if he were (according to the supra- 
lapsarian, before the fall, or according to the sublapsa- 
rian, after the fall) predestinated either to salvation or 
damnation, he need give himself little concern about 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 313 

it, since nothing that he conld do wonld alter the case, 
one way or the other.* 

‘‘Now, Mr. Ben Slocum,” continued the Doctor, “ I 
hope you will read none of these books. To speak 
plainly, they are little better than spiritual poison. All 
that you have to do. Sir, is to ‘get religion.’ And to 
aid you in this work, here is a charming and precious 
little book, which I will place in your hands. And to 
show you my unbiased judgment, and unbounded 
liberality, you may see from the title-page it is by an 
Episcopal clergyman^ the Eev. Dr. Skyrocket, a man 
of extensive learning and piety, an ornament to his 
Church, a Christian in the true sense of the word, whom 
I will endorse any and every where. I do not ask you 
to read Presbyterian books ; read that book. Sir, an 
Episcopal book ; it will open your eyes, and you will 
see what all this pretension about the Apostolic Succes- 
sion, etc., is worth. 

“ Dr. Skyrocket, like a good Christian, and a liberal- 
minded, intelligent man, acknowledges our Church and 
orders to be as valid as his. He prefers Episcopacy, 
not because it is of divine appointment, but because he 
likes it best. I prefer Presbyterianism ; and so I hope 
you do, Mr. Ben Slocum.” 


* The Presbyterians of the present day affect to derive great com- 
fort from our I'Zth Article of Religion. Strange, that they should he 
■willing to look in this direction for comfort ! How far they are privi- 
leged to derive comfort from the aforesaid Article, may be gathered 
from the opposition which it met at the hands of the Calvinistic party, 
at the period it was first proposed. See Hardwick’s Lambeth Articles. 
His. : Amt : pp. 162 and 157. 


14 


314 THE BLEMMEETOHS; OE, 

And we opine from Dr. Skyrocket’s book, that he 
would have found more sympathy and congeniality in 
the bosom of Presbyterianism than he found in the 
Church. His sympathies were all with them ; and his 
works, from time to time, had been of very great service 
to Presbyterianism, since, in all such cases as that of 
Mr. Ben Slocum, they had been extensively used, in 
proselyting weak, unstable, and uninstructed members 
of the Church into that system. We will, however, do 
Dr. Skyrocket the justice to say, that that was not his 
intention. He was a sincere man, aiming merely to 
disseminate his principles of liberality, and manifest 
his freedom from every taint of “ bigotry” and “ un- 
charitableness.” These he considered weaknesses, be- 
neath the dignity of a man of spirit and independence ; 
to be tied up to forms and creeds was abhorrent to his 
feelings. His theological acquirements were very limit- 
ed; he had never sounded the depths of theological 
learning ; he had never breathed a thorough Church 
atmosphere ; and therefore it was not to be expected 
of him, that he should recognize the Church as a great 
Institution set up in the world by her divine Lord for 
the salvation of sinners. 

Like numbers who tampered with Home, until they 
were carried into her arms or crushed beneath her 
serpent-like coils, he had tampered with Sectarianism, 
until he was completely under its control. And the 
praises and high-sounding eulogies of his sectarian 
friends, had a fascination, whose chain, had he so desired, 
he could not have broken. 

Mr. Benjamin Slocum Sapientium read the flaming 
book of Dr. Skyrocket. Perhaps, he did. We do not 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


315 


assert the fact ; we rather doubt, whether Ben ever read 
much of any thing. But the result was just as certain ; 
all his protestations to Mr. Lovegood vanished, and, of 
course, he came out, a drilled, decided, and triumphant 
Presbyterian. How much “religion he got,” we un- 
dertake not to answer. This we know : it was duly 
announced, that the new convert would he received into 
connection with the Presbyterian meeting, on the fol- 
lowing Sunday. Of course, it was a great and thrilling 
event, in the history of Dr. Biproarer’s ministry ; nor 
did he and his congregation fail to improve it, to the 
full extent. It was a decided and magnificent triumph ; 
and will doubtless be recorded with due honor and 
prominence in the histoiy of Presbyterianism, as it is 
handed down to posterity. Hequiescat in pace. 'No ! 
Emblazon it on the banner and give it to the breeze ! 
It is a trophy that Dr. Biproarer can well afford to exult 
in : he is welcome to it, we envy him not. All this 
while, Mr. Lovegood has been kept in profound igno- 
rance oft hese manoeuvres. He has often met and con- 
versed with Ben Slocum ; but never the slightest hint 
of this piece of wire-working has he received, either 
from him or his aunt, who was privy to it. 

How here was a capital hit for Dr. Biproarer ; a re- 
prisal 'from Mr. Lovegood’s flock; a member of the 
Blemmerton family, who, all their lives, had been iden- 
tified with that “ mummery,” Episcopacy ! Presbyte- 
rianism was looking up. Dr. Biproarer could certainly 
afford to lift his hat and make a respectful how for such 
a favor, — “ Knock-heads,” as the Chinese say. It hooted 
nothing to him, that poor Ben knew not enough about 
the Church to have enabled him to answer the first 


316 THE BLEMM ERTO XS; OR, 

question in the Catechism. We ask his pardon ; per- 
haps had the direct question, “ What is your name ?” 
been propounded to him, he might have answered, 
“ Benjamin Slocum.” But he never could have an- 
swered the second question. And this, it is true, was 
not so much his fault, as that of his uncle and aunt, by 
whom he had been brought up. Still, it robs Presby- 
terianism of all ground of exultation, since Mr. Slocum 
had no idea of discriminating between truth and false- 
hood. He was about to become a Presbyterian ; be- 
cause policy dictated it, not because he thought Pres- 
byterianism, par excellence, the truth. So far as he 
had been trained at all, religiously, he had been reared 
in the school of indifferentism ; and now he was led 
entirely by what he supposed to be his interests. Sally 
Fastidious attended Dr. Pip’s services altogether. It 
was a great reprisal ; a “ big-gun” affair, and the most 
was to be* made of it. 

Dr. Piproarer undoubtedly understood the whole 
matter ; but, thankful for small favors, few and far be- 
tween as they were, he joyed, as Pythagoras did, when 
he discovered his great geometrical problem ; and, for 
aught that we know, had he possessed them, he would 
have sacrificed as many oxen ; or as Archimedes did, 
when he discovered the specific gravity of metals. 
And had he, like the philosopher, been bathing, he 
would have rushed out of the bath, exclaiming, “I have 
found it ! I have found it !” 

Found what. Sir? “Mr. Benjamin Slocum Sapien- 
tium, the nephew of Mr. John Blemmerton, is a Pres- 
byterian.” Whew ! you have found a “ mare’s nest,” 
indeed. It was a capital hit, we say, for Dr. Piproarer ; 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 3l7 

and he improved it, having in mind, no doubt, an aw- 
ful consideration of all the gossip floating about to Mr. 
Lovegood’s prejudice. The next Sunday night, the fact 
was duly announced, that Mr. Ben Slocum had made a 
happy exit, after a searching examination and many 
painful mental struggles, from the errors of Episcopacy ; 
and had been duly received into union with the Presby- 
terian meeting. 

The Doctor put on his happiest expression, while 
making the announcement; congratulated his young 
friend on his triumphant conversion, and urged him to 
persevere, — a thing that Tie knew, according to his sys- 
tem, he would do. The evening’s service wound up 
with a “ scorching sermon,” as Mr. Nochurch charac- 
terized it, on the pretensions of some bigoted, uncharit- 
able Episcopalians, in which the Pev. Doctor did not 
omit to dwell, with a scathing burst of indignant elo- 
quence, on the shamefulness of clerical delinquencies 
in general ; and especially on the use of the smallest 
amount of ardent spirits by a clergyman, except in 
cases of sickness, — an exception which the doctor often 
needed for his personal benefit. In truth, he was bold 
to say, that he had no confidence in any clergyman 
who did not belong to a temperance society. 

“A fine hit, that!” declared Aunt Sally Milk-and- 
water, who had gone with the crowd, on this memora- 
ble occasion ; “ a fine hit, that! A sorry set all preach- 
ers must have been, before temperance societies were 
introduced !” 


318 


THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

A DISCOVERY. AN IRISH ROW. A MORSEL OF CHARITY. 

“La! if there be’int a funeral,” ejaculated Mrs. Fus- 
sy’s girl Jane, as she loitered at the back-gate of her 
premises one afternoon, a few weeks later than the 
groggery story started. She ran in to inform Mrs. Fus- 
sy, that a funeral procession was moving out from the 
residence of Pat O’Kyman. “ And sure enough, if Mr. 
Lovegood be’int at the head of it.” 

The hearse moved slowly out of the alley, followed 
by a few Irishmen and women, and proceeded to the 
burial-ground. “V^hy, Jane, who is dead?” inquired 
Mrs. Fussy, with evident concern. “I don’t know, 
Marm ; may be it’s Miss O’Ryman ; I’ll run over and 
see.” 

Mrs. O’Ryman was dead. She had lived within a 
stone’s throw of Mrs. Fussy, for a number of years, and 
now had been gradually sinking to the grave, for the 
last six months, under the slow lingering tortures of 
a cancer ; and though she was ill so long, and so long 
residing near her ; a partaker with her, too, at the same 
altar ; a co-worshipper in the same sanctuary ; Mrs. 
Fussy scaicely knew that such a being existed ; through 
all her sickness, she had never sent a kind inquiry af- 
ter her, nor proffered the slightest token of Christian 
sympathy. Alas ! that we should have to record so 
painful a reminiscence. 


DOT TINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 319 

But true, too true is it, that the heavenly doctrine of 
the Communion of Saints, the great Brotherhood of the 
Church, has been painfully lost sight of, or merged into 
the over-mastering aims, ends, and interests of the pres- 
ent life. We know that it has been nobly urged, that 
the Church possesses all the elements that are required, 
for a display of the most active charity towards the 
world at large, and her own children in particular ; and 
hence some, whose opinions we venerate, have taken a 
stand of opposition to Church Brotherhoods, on the true 
ground that the whole Church is a Brotherhood, and 
that it is only necessary to use and develop the means 
in hand, to carry out the glowing and glorious chari- 
ties of the Gospel. 

In the abstract, this is a glorious truth. But, if the 
Church has failed in her organic capacity, in any re- 
spect, to meet the demands of poor trembling humani- 
ty ; or, if her children have failed to strengthen her 
hands, may not poor humanity cry aloud for succor, 
and reach forth her feeble hand to grasp the next best 
thing that proffers relief or comfort ? 

The writer has but an humble opinion to offer, and 
he offers it with fear and trembling ; but he believes it 
to be the true view. The Church is a great Brother- 
hood ; the greater contains the less ; let the less go on, 
to accomplish what it can ; its influence will enlarge, 
until all shall be absorbed in the greater. It is, we rev- 
erently believe, a movement in the right direction, — a 
curative of a great evil. We think its grand effect is, 
to be a fuller and more appreciative recognition of the 
great Brotherhood. 

Small Brotherhoods, of activity, within the circle of 


320 THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 

a great Brotherhood, long too inactive ! Is there any 
contradiction involved herein ? JSTo more, we apprehend, 
than there is in the working of each independent par- 
ish, in subjection to the federative principle of all the 
parishes, in a Diocese ; or of each independent Dio- 
cese, in subjection to the federative principle of the 
whole Church. 

The Church possesses all necessary elements, but it 
must be granted that they are inactive, at least for all 
the purposes that are required. Where are we to be- 
gin to effect the cure ? Certainly we must aim at the 
seat of the disease. The disease lies in the Church’s 
children ; her children, then, must be exercised ; and 
this is the work proposed by the lesser Brotherhoods, 
working within the circle of the greater. “ All true 
remedy,” Leighton says, “ must begin at the heart ; 
otherwise, it will be but a mountebank cure, a false im- 
agined conquest.” 

Another thing must be granted, that the Church, in 
her organic capacity, ‘has failed in duty ; for, she bears 
towards her children the authority of a loving spiritual 
mother, which authority she has not fully carried out in 
a wholesome and loving discipline. She has, from 
time to time, here and there, allowed too much of the 
spirit of. independency, too much of the spirit of indi- 
vidualizing Christianity. It is her province to define 
and enforce terms of membership; and in all respects to 
carry out and develop the primary laws of the Gospel. 

The only terms of membership are Baptism ; this she 
has clearly defined. But she has not so clearly defined 
the duties springing out of that membership ; or, at 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


321 


least, she does allow, in her individual pastors, in many 
instances, too meagre a performance of them. She 
must take a more decided stand against worldliness. 
Worldliness has continued to usurp, until it has well- 
nigh eked out her powers of life, and powers of disci- 
pline. This must be remedied, by a return to some- 
thing like the primitive rule, of laying apart on the first 
day of the week. It involves a weekly ofiTertory, which 
the Church, in her organic capacity, ought to enforce, as 
she clearly has the right to enforce ; i, so far as the 
opportunity to give is concerned; she can constrain 
the clergy to do their part of it. 

Again : when it is seen that numbers of her children, 
and those, we mean, who are partakers at her altar of 
the “ Bread of Life,” are devoted, soul and body, to the 
world, what are we to expect but meagre charities ? 
charities that mock the poor, and put a scandal on the 
Gospel. And is the Church, in her organic capacity, 
not relax here? Has she no power of discipline to 
remedy such an evil ? How comports it with the duty 
of communicants of the Church, to contribute fifty cents, 
or a mere mite, to the. great charities of the Gospel, 
when, the next day, perhaps, they spend a thousand 
dollars in a ball or party, to meet the demands of fash- 
ion? And yet, dare we blind our eyes to such facts as 
are daily staring us in the face ? And has the Church 
no remedial power ? She has. She has discipline : and 
it should be well defined. She should speak out, in her 
organic strength, against such evils ; and they who 
would not be willing, in some good measure, to yield 
them, should at least be made to take their right posi- 
14 * 


322 THE HLEMMERTONS; OR, 

tion within her folds. “Ye cannot serve God and 
Mammon.” Let the Church enforce it more fully, dis- 
tinctly, and determinedly upon their children. Until 
this is done, we say. All Hail the Brotherhoods, as the 
best thing we can have. It is but the big heart of 
the Church, yearning and throbbing through the hearts 
of her children. What the many will not accomplish, 
the few will; and we bid them God-speed, until the 
whole Brotherhood, in its strength, shall be aroused’ 
into a life-hreathing activity. 

But, to return to our story. The residence of* Pat 
O’Byman was a dilapidated old building, which stood 
in an alley, just in the rear of Mrs. Fussy’s princely 
mansion, and had but two rooms, and one entrance. 
There was an attic, but it was merely a receptacle for 
old lumber and rubbish. 

The front room is occupied as a “Bar-room,” in 
which Pat O’Byman deals out the liquid fire to his cus- 
tomers ; a set of low filthy Irishmen, who spend with 
him, in drunken brawls, every penny they can rake and 
scrape together. And when they are penniless, and 
can succeed in getting Pat half drunk, he “thrusts 
them for the sake o’ the ould counthry.” 

Just before the door, inside, stands the necessary ap- 
pendage to a groggery, a painted lattice-work screen, 
which serves to save the passer-by from many an un- 
seemly, unsightly carousal. Were you to enter that 
wretched place, you would find a few rickety chairs, an 
old bespittled stove, a sanded floor, covered with tobac- 
co juice and relics of the quid; a few empty whiskey 
barrels, scattered promiscuously about ; a small coun- 
ter, at which the glass is served ; and, behind it, a row 


DOTTINGS BT THE WAYSIDE. 


323 


or two of shelves, holding the labelled bottles, which 
contain the fire-water. 

Pat O’Pyman is, himself, a perfect specimen of an 
Irish groggery-keeper ; a pock-fretted face ; a red nose, 
that looks as though it were half roasted ; one eye a lit' 
tie red and blood-shotten, the other slightly blackened ; 
shaggy hair; a full fiorid face. The landlord stands 
behind his “ Bar,” — which means, we suppose, that it 
“ bars” all intruders from the delectable labelled bot- 
tles, — in his red fiannel shirt, the sleeves of which are 
rolled up to the armpit, exhibiting the marks of indel- 
ible ink wrought into the skin in the shape of an an- 
chor and a sprig of shamrock. He is mixing glasses 
for two or three Irishmen, who lazily hang on the coun- 
ter in a state of anxious waiting, while half a dozen more 
of the same kidney lounge about the room, — some on 
the rickety chaire, some on the empty barrels, smoking 
their pipes, sipping their toddy, and singing their Irish 
bacchanalian songs. One fellow, having indulged a 
little too freely in potations of the crather,” has slip- 
ped from his barrel, and lies by it on the fioor, a rather 
forbidding specimen of humanity. 

How long, O Lord, holy and true, shall humanity be 
infiicted with such gateways to Hell ! 

In the back room, there is what must pass for a bed, 
on which reclines the sick wife of Pat O’Eyman. 
There also hangs from the wall a dingy looking-glass, 
that has the appearance of having displayed the beau- 
ties of the O’Eyman family for many generations. 
There is also an old chest or two about the room, on the 
top of which burns a lamp, which emits a dull, dingy, 
smoky light. 


324 THE BLEMMEKTONS; OK 

Pat 0 ’Hyman was himself a Homanist, and felt that 
all he needed was “ extreme unction” at the last mo- 
ment ; hut his wife had been brought up in the United 
Church of England and Ireland, and notwithstanding 
the threats of Pat, and the anathemas of Father Don- 
neghan, had remained true to the Faith. When she 
was taken sick, Pat insisted on sending for Father Don- 
neghan, hut she as strenuously refused to have his ser- 
vices. And so matters stood, until Mr. Lovegood, miss- 
ing her from the Communion, called one day to ascer- 
tain the cause of her absence, and found her as we have 
described. 

Mr. Lovegood had never had an assistant ; and no’vv 
he found his hands full of parochial duty, visiting the 
sick, ministering to the needy and the afflicted, inso- 
much that he was frequently on duty all night, at the 
bedside of the sick or dying, in the lordly palace, or the 
wretched hovel. About ten o’clock, on the night when 
Master John Fussy saw him come out of the alley, the 
faithful pastor had entered the groggery of Pat O ’Hy- 
man. As we have stated before, there was but one 
entrance ; and he was obliged to pass through the 
crowd of half drunken Irishmen, to enter the room 
of the sick woman. And we must say, to their credit, 
that, as soon as they looked upon him, and learned the 
nature of his mission, they became silent, gave him a 
respectful bow, and opened a way for him to pass into 
the back room. There he found the sick woman suffer- 
ing great pain, bearing unmistakable marks of neglect, 
worn out with the incessant fumes of wffliskey and the 
pipe from the tap-room, - and the horrible oaths and im- 
precations that ever and anon jarred upon her ear. We 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


325 


can scarcely picture to ourselves a more wretched aud 
pitiable condition, for one who needed quiet for the 
body’s sake, and the consolations of religion for the 
preparation of the soul for its passage into the Spirit- 
land. 

How awful a type of the wretchedness of lost spirits 
in that world of woe, where the sunlight of God’s coun- 
tenance cometh not! Oaths, imprecations, blasphe- 
mies, rendered all the night horrible, making a hell 
upon earth. 

O, what a comfort to the afflicted and dying woman, 
was the presence of the man of God! Even the 
impious blasphemer was silent before him ; the besot- 
ted, brutal bacchanalian ceased his horrid oaths ; and, 
for the first time during many weary nights, did that 
den of darkness, filth, and wickedness, fail to resound 
with its horrible and maddening orgies. 

But quiet was destined not long to remain. There 
bad long been a feud brewing, between Pat O’Ryman 
and Tim Limpkins, his brother-in-law, who kept a grog- 
gery^in a neighboring alley, about some bedding, a 
frying-pan, a tea-kettle, and a few other articles, the 
property of the mother of their respective wives, who 
had recently immigrated to this country, and gone to 
live with Tim Limpkins. This, it seems, had given Pat 
offence, since, as he alleged, the mother had taken all 
her property to Tim’s ; whereas, he contended, it ought 
to have been divided equally between the two daugh- 
ters. Many angry and insulting messages had passed 
between them ; and, a few days before, they met in the 
street, and would have come to blows, but were sepa- 
rated by mutual friends. 


32^) THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 

On the night mentioned, and a few moments after 
Mr. Lovegood entered, Tim Limpkins, in a drunken 
frolic, backed by two or three “ready boys,” came 
round to Pat’s, and attacked him in his “ Bar-room.” 
A terrible fight ensued, in which nearly all took part. 
Chairs, empty bottles, barrels, pokers, every available 
article, fiew about the room, making havoc of heads, 
arms, legs, eyes, noses. In vain did one of the better 
disposed shout aloud : “ Pace, men ! pace, men ! the 
sick crather ! the sick crather ! the dying crather will 
be kilt ! Be asey, be asey, the ministher ist in the 
room. Bad luck to ye, bad luck to ye.” The blows 
were dealt the faster, thicker, and harder ; skulls rat- 
tled, decanters were smashed, windows flew. Pat, at 
last, seizing an empty beer bottle, struck his antagonist 
a terrible blow on the head, which felled him, and 
ended the fight. 

Mr. Lovegood rushed into the room ; and oh, horrors ! 
what a sight ! The room presented the spectacle of a 
perfect wreck. Here lay a fellow groaning with a 
broken arm ; there, another with both eyes knocked 
out ; another bitterly cried : “ Och, my head ist sphlit, 
my head ist sphlit ; wide open, wide open. O, Biddy, 
my darlent, where ist ye ? where ist ye ?” 

The unlucky Tim lay entirely insensible, apparently 
dead, the blood streaming from his temple. By this 
time, Tim’s wife and mother-in-law had got wind of the 
row ; and the wives of several others of the wounded, 
who all rushed into the room, and set up the most awful 
wail that ever greeted the ear of mortal. 

“ O, my Tim, and ist ye gone !” piteously exclaimed 
the wife ; “ gone, gone, my Tim. Yis, yis, my Tim ist. 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


327 


Ah ! my Tim, he was a good boy ; yis, he was my Tim. 
Oh, ye crathiir, ye haste, ye vile varmint of desthruction. 
Yis, ye did it. Ye know’d the man was dhrnnk ; and 
ye ha’ kilt him. Och, ye baste of a murdhurur. Ans 
if I wa’ a man. But oh, mine Tim, mine Tim ! Yis, 
there’s a God above ; yis, yis, oh, my Tim, my Tim !” 

All this time, Mr. Lovegood stood by, feeling the 
pulse of the wounded man. The pulsations were 
feeble ; but he was not dead, life had not fled. He 
sent for a physician ; meantime, bathing the wounded 
man in cold water, spirits of ether, and camphor, stop- 
ped the flow of blood ; and, in two hours, Tim had so 
far recovered, that he could be removed in a cart to his 
own home. 

“ Och, and may the Holy Mither bliss ye !” said 
Biddy, as Mr. Lovegood took his departure. “ Hiretic, 
or not, as Father Donneghan sis ye be, ye be the blissed 
of the Lord ! Mony’s the time Biddy’ll think on ye, for 
the likes o’ ye ist not seen ivery day. Ho, no ; that’s a 
thruth !” 

Horrible as was this episode in a clergyman’s life, who 
would not have preferred it to the authorship of the 
vile and abominable slanders that had grown out of it? 

Weeks rolled round; the sick woman grew daily 
woi’se ; but Mr. Lovegood was faithfully found at her 
bedside. And if John Fussy and ‘‘ Jane ” had watched 
him a little more narrowly, they would have seen on 
his arm, or on the arm of Mr. or Mrs. Friendly, one of 
whom often accompanied him every day or night that 
he visited the groggery, a little basket, with a clean 
white napkin drawn over it, filled with knick-knacks 
and little comforts for the sick woman. 


328 


THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 


And when the humble, but solemn funeral train was 
seen slowly wending down the alley, following the man 
of God in his snow-white surplice, charity whispered, 
even to ‘‘Jane’s” heart, that, may be, after all, Mr. 
Lovegood had been to see the sick woman. 

Mrs. Fussy, as she gazed at the funeral train, bearing 
to their last resting-place the remains of her sister in the 
Church of God, whom she had never known nor com- 
forted, hung her head, for she felt conscience-stricken. 
The voice within cried against her, and held the lash. 
Let us trust, that, she retired from the back porch a 
better woman. God only knows ; with Him are the 
secrets of all hearts. 

Ah ! Charity, thou art a jewel, growing brighter and 
brighter on earth, only to have thy full brilliancy, when 
thou shalt reflect the glorious light that beams from the 
gems that irradiate tlie crown of Immanuel, in the blaze 
of eternal day. 

Ah ! thou gossiping tongue, thou art fllled with the 
poison of asps ; and thy breath shall be the fuel of the 
flame of the abodes of darkness, whose smoke, as Ihe 
smoke of a furnace, shall ascend forever and ever. 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


329 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

MR. JONATHAN HEARTFIJL AGAIN. A NEW STOEY ON ME. 

LOVEGOOD, AND THE TEEEIBLE BHESTING OF A VOLCANO. 

Jonathan Heaetful has returned from Congress, 
having distinguished himself, and won golden honors, 
in combating with the intellectual giants of his day. 
And he has now quietly settled down again in the pur- 
suit of his profession, and takes an active part in the 
affairs of the Church. 

He has visited the Blemmertons three or four times ; 
and it is reported, no one knows how, and no one cares, 
that he is about to address Miss Julia Jasper. And we 
will say for Miss Julia, that, in proper hands, she would 
have made an excellent wife. Her character, truly, was 
very defective, from the effects of the false training 
through which she had passed; hut there was in it 
much of latent good, that needed only a helping hand 
for its development. She was naturally of a frank 
and open disposition, warped, indeed, by a supercilious 
and selfish spirit ; but, she had few concealments, and 
appeared for little more than she was really worth. 
Therefore, her’s would have been a hopeful case, could 
she have been placed beyond the reach of the infiuences 
which had ever been thrown around her at home. She 
had been reared in a school of unreality, surrounded 
with mists, through which she gazed at the real world, 
catching but faint glimpses of it, as the mariner nearing 


330 THE BLEMMEETONS; OE, 

the coast pierces with his keen eye through the thick 
fog, and gains an occasional glimpse of land. 

For aught that we know, Mr. Heartful had discrimi- 
nation enough to form a correct estimate of Miss Julia’s 
character ; and, perhaps, had she been free from such 
powerful coadjutors as her mother. Miss Deliah Air- 
myth, Mrs. Fussy, and a few others, the report at some 
time or another might have been verified. But, as the 
case stood, it was hopeless. Agnes’s time had nearly 
expired at Mrs. Densmore’s, and Mr. Lovegood had 
been twice to see her within the last six months. This 
gives occasion to no small amount of impatience, and 
numberless surmises. Mrs. FTochurch and the Blem- 
mertons are found frequently together, speculating on 
the phenomenon. They are baffled. What can it 
mean? Can Mr. Lovegood think of marrying Agnes 
himself? It must be so. This is all the ladies can 
make of it ; and yet how preposterous ! A man of 
forty, and he a clergyman, to think of marrying a girl 
not quite eighteen! And she even dependent upon 
him for her education ! Yea, more, a barefooted beg- 
gar urchin, who, four years ago, had been prowling 
about the streets, ragged, dirty, bareheaded, picking up 
old rags, and begging pennies ! O I the thing was un- 
bearable ! Beally, if it came to pass, they would give 
Mr. Lovegood up, and go to Dr. Riproarer’s Church. 

The rumor of the marriage of Mr. Lovegood and 
Deliah Airmyth had for some time partially died away ; 
nor had the groggery story been heard of, since the 
funeral of Mrs. O’Ryman. That seemed to give each 
a quietus. 

Mr. Benjamin Slocum Sapientium is yet a Presbyte- 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 331 

rian, in no way changed from what he always was. 
His rapid, triumphant, and remarkable conversion has 
effected nothing, except to give him a little more brass. 

When Mr. Lovegood accosted him, after uniting with 
the Presbyterians, he told him, that Dr. Skyrocket’s 
book had converted him; and, inasmuch as it was 
placed in his hands by Dr. Riproarer, he felt in honor 
bound to join the Presbyterians. Mr. Lovegood thought 
Ben’s principles of honor, after all that had occurred, 
rather shallow, not worth discussing ; so, he permitted 
him to pass, with the simple remark, that he hoped he 
was a sincere penitent, and, while repenting, would not 
forget his tergiversating, and the awful sin of schism he 
had committed, in tearing himself away from the body 
of Christ. 

Upon the whole, mattei's stood in a passable state of 
equilibrium with all the parties whom we have intro- 
duced to the reader. Aunt Sally Milk-and-water, who 
of late had grown somewhat more relentful and charit- 
able towards the good Rector, thought it well that it 
was so ; for she said they had handled Mr. Lovegood 
pretty roughly. He had been to see her the day be- 
fore, and seemed to know nothing of the stories that had 
been reported about him. Only he told her he had re- 
ceived a ‘‘ hinonymous” letter about going to the the- 
atre. She did not know what a ‘‘ hinonymous” letter 
was, but she was sure it was something dreadful. 
“ And, la me ! what do you think he said ? That he 
was never in a theatre in his life ; and laughed out- 
right. I reckon it’s more than many of us can say. 
And, what’s more, I went right to Pat O’Ryman’s my- 
self, and asked him if Mr. Lovegood drank any thing 


332 


THE H L E M M E H T O N S ; OK, 


at his house ; and what do you think he said ? ‘ Och, 

bliss his riverince’s heart, he dthrunk not so much as a 
glass o’ cowld wather ; an’ if thir’s any sich sthories out, 
it’s Pat O’Pyman’s the man as what’ll say it’s a lie ; 
an’ he’s the boy what knows it’s all sprung from a 
’oman, who, as Father Donnaghan sis, hasn’t followed 
the tixt about kaping at home !’ ” 

Although a partial quiet reigned over affairs in , 

there were the smouldering remains of these old stories 
and gossipings, which were occasionally fanned by some 
of the party, to keep them alive. And as in a fire long 
pent up, there often is needed but a gentle breeze to 
cause it' to burst out with fury, carrying destruction be- 
fore it; so, in these elements of confusion, jealousy, 
evil-speaking, and evil-surmising, there was needed but 
a breath, a whisper, to cause them to rage with renewed 
power of destruction. 

When Mrs. Blemmerton had made the sage discov- 
ery, that Mr. Lovegood visited Mrs. Densmore’s school 
for the purpose of addressing his ‘‘ daughter,” (as he 
called her ; but his “ dependent,” as the Blemmertons 
termed her,) she was fairly at her wit’s end, and cast 
about for new resources. The case had a desperate 
look. Something must be done, to bring matters to a 
crisis. Mr. Lovegood had continued his pastoral visits 
to the Blemmertons, with the hope of benefiting them 
spiritually, and because it was his duty. These visits 
were, of course, the Occasion of keeping alive the im- 
pression with some, that the old story was true. It was, 
therefore, no difficult matter, to cause it to become 
again the prominent topic of conversation. 

Mr. Slopill had, for a long time, been very uneasy 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


333 


about these reports ; for be brooked not the thought of 
losing the prospective dollars and cents. He had fre- 
quently upbraided Miss Dele, with giving Mr. Love- 
good more attention than was his due, all things con- 
sidered. About this time, meeting her one evening at 
Mrs. Hochurch’s, he took upon him to broach the sore 
subject again. Miss Dele gave him to understand, that, 
for aught she knew, Mr. Lovegood had serious inten- 
tions towards her. 

How, heretofore. Miss Dele had always strenuously 
denied all these reports to Mr. Slopill. Alas ! what 
now remained to him ! He now taxed her with encour- 
aging Mr. Lovegood, with the presentation of the ser- 
mon-holder, the rosebud, and the piece of poetry ; all 
of which he had picked up from the current gossip. 
Hot a word of all did she deny ; but she rather inti- 
mated that she was a free woman, and that, if Mr. Love- 
good addressed her, she should claim the prerogative of 
doing as she pleased. Think of this, ye sympathetic 
ones, and weep with Mr. Slopill. And had it come to 
that? She would give him no satisfaction. Mr. Slo- 
pill walked home faster that evening than he ever 
walked before, except on the memorable occasion here- 
tofore related. 

Boiling over with rage, the next morning he hurried 
to Mr. Lovegood’s study. On the way, he met Mrs. 
Fussy, with whom he paused a moment for a little chat ; 
suppressing, as much as possible, the fiery indignation 
which burned in his bosom towards the good pastor. 

“ Good morning, Mr. Slopill.” “ Good morning, 
Madam. Hope I see you well. Madam ?” “ Quite 

well. Sir ; but not so comfortable. Think they haven’t 


334 


THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 


got out another story about Mr. Lovegood “ What 
is that, Madam ?” “ Why, that he’s going to marry 

that girl, Agnes Wallace, that he took up off the street, 
and sent to Mrs. Densmore’s school.” “ I wish him 
good luck, Madam,” said Mr. Slopill, whose counte- 
nance brightened up. “ Ah, yes, Mr. Slopill ; hut for 
a clergyman to have two strings to his bow, is to me 
perfectly amazing!” By this time Mr. Slopill could 
scarcely stand on his feet. That struck a tender spring. 
“ Good morning. Madam. I’m in a hurry.” 

And on he went, to the Rector’s study. Mr. Love- 
good was at his desk, writing a sermon for the next 
Sunday, on the parable of Dives and Lazarus. Mr. 
Slopill was dreadfully agitated ; the pastor perfectly 
calm and collected ; not one care, sorrow, nor anxiety 
ruffled his benign countenance. “ I am very happy to 
see you, Mr. Slopill. This is, I believe, the first time 
you have done me the honor to call.” “ And it’s the 
last,” replied Mr. Slopill, very snappishly. ‘‘ O, I hope 
not. Sir,” said Mr. Lovegood, in a good-humored tone. 
“ I hope nothing of an unpleasant nature has occurred.” 
‘‘ There has. Sir,” exclaimed Mr. Slopill, raising his 
voice several notes higher. “ I have to accuse you. Sir, 
of endeavoring to supplant me in the affections of Miss 
Deliah Airmyth Blemmerton!” “Never, Sir!” ex- 
claimed Mr. Lovegood, dropping his pen, and, for the 
first time, gaining as it were a glimpse of the position in 
which affairs stood. “ Never, Sir. Such a thought, or 
wish, has never crossed my breast ; nor is there the 
slightest foundation for such a surmise.” 

Mr. Slopill was amazed. He stood as dumb and 
mute as a statue, before the serene countenance that 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


335 


beamed upon him. “ And have you, Sir, not addressed 
Miss Blemmerton?” “I have answered you. Sir.” 
‘‘ Have you not given her to understand that you would 
do so ?” “ I have answered you. Sir.” “ Did not Miss 

Blemmerton present you with a sermon-holder. Sir ?” 
“ I have answered you. Sir.” 

“ Are you not aware that this story has been in cir- 
culation a long time ? And what if the young lady 
in question confirm it. Sir?” “That, Sir, she will 
scarcely be able to do ; for, not so much as a word has 
ever passed between us on such a subject. As to the 
gossip that may have floated about with regard to my- 
self, I consider it too insignificant to be worthy ot 
notice. But, you will please bear in mind, Mr. Slopill, 
that I have answered you once for all. This whole 
affair is to me a profound enigma ; nor shall I submit 
to any more categorical exercises about what passes be- 
tween me and my parishioners. It is a humiliation, to 
which I do not feel called upon to condescend. And, 
Sir, had I been disposed to address Miss Blemmerton, 
I should have had no conception of your standing in 
the way ; for I heard her declare, in open company, 
that no betrothment existed between you. So, under 
any circumstances, your charges would signally have 
failed. I have nothing more to do with the question, 
Sir.” 

Worse and worse. Poor Mr. Slopill ! Here was a 
disclosure, for which he was totally unprepared. He 
was maddened. The whole truth flashed upon him like 
an electric spark. 

Whereunto would the pathway on which he had en- 
tered lead him ? Would it conduct to the delectable 


336 


THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 


moHntains of matrimony and gold ; or tlie dark valley 
of the Celebate, where no gold grows? Could it be 
so ? Mr. Slopill hurried to his bacon and lard estab- 
lishment ; and, after combing his whiskers, despatched 
a tart note to Miss Deliah Airmyth, about which we 
shall hear more hereafter. For the present, we invoke 
for him rest through the day, and quiet slumbers and 
pleasant dreams at night. 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


33Y 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

A GLANCE AT MR. LOYEGOOd’s SERMON ON DIVES AND 
LAZARUS. ONE OF ITS RESULTS. A TICKLISH CASE IN 
THE NOCHURCH FAMILY. REV. MR. HARDWORKER AND 
HIS INIMITABLE PSALMODY. CHURCH MUSIC. SOME AC- 
COUNT OF THE DEBT OF GRATITUDE DUE BY THE CHURCH 
TO MR. HARDWORKER, FOR ITS IMPROVEMENT. 

After Mr. Slopill left Mr. Lovegood, the Hector con- 
tinued and brought to a conclusion his sermon on Dives 
and Lazarus, and on the following Sunday morning he 
preached it. We give merely a brief extract from it 
for the reader’s benefit. 

“This rich man,” said he, “was clothed in purple 
and fine linen, and fared sumptuously every day. W as 
he unlike the common run of worldly rich men ; rich 
men who take the world for their portion, and in it 
alone find their reward? Cast your eyes over this 
great city ; stand mute before the gorgeous splendor of 
its magnificence and wealth. Behold its prodigality 
and luxuriousness, and the thousands lavished by the 
hand of wealth upon the lusts of a pampered body, 
soon to rot in the tomb. Behold the thousands of poor, 
struggling on, scarcely breathing, crying aloud for the 
charities of life, spurned from the doors of the rich; 
aye, look upon the thousands of Diveses and Lazamses 
all over this voluptuous city ; and methinks you will 
have no occasion to conclude, that this rich man’s case 

15 


338 THE BLEMMEKTONS; OB, 

is SO unlike the ways of the world and the age in which 
we live. 

‘‘ His, alas ! is a character familiar to us. That he 
was rich, may not be charged as an offence, unless his 
riches were acquired fraudulently or dishonestly. That 
he was clothed in purple and fine linen, was perchance 
only in keeping with his station in life. All men are 
equal in God’s sight ; souls are measured by the Eter- 
nal ; and yet, for the well-being of society, as a means 
of probation, and the government of mankind and the 
stability of governments, families, and communities. 
Providence has allotted various stations and relative 
positions among men, as of the governor and the gov- 
erned, the parent and the child, the possessor of wealth 
and the diligent laborer : all, in some way, dependent 
upon each other ; each laboring in his place and sphere 
for the good of the whole ; and each accountable for 
the faithful discharge of his stewardship. We see not, 
therefore, that this rich man sinned, by clothing him- 
self in keeping with his position in life. 

“ Doubtless, we gather from the whole, he was a vo- 
luptuary; in that his sin consisted. And he is a type 
of numbers in almost every Christian community. He 
is not represented as one given to fraud or rapine ; he 
was not a homicide, nor guilty of any heinous crime as 
a violator of the decalogue. At least, he is not charged 
with it. Banish, then, from your minds the thought, 
that there was something peculiarly black in this man’s 
character, differing from and altogether above the or- 
dinary course of worldliness. Hay, he may have been 
quite a good man as the world counts goodness. Upon 
the whole, he may have been a clever citizen, ‘ a good 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 339 

fellow,’ as the world says. ‘ He harmed nobody.’ And 
he may have been liked, if not for his social qualities, 
at least for his sumptuous entertainments, and the 
favors that now and then fell from his hands upon the 
few who paid him court. 

“ J ust as we see it now, such and such are called 
clever men ; they entertain luxuriously ; live in fine 
style ; are not niggardly in the world’s service ; are 
honest, and, upon the whole, so far as the world sees, 
are moral ; therefore, they are accounted good citizens, 
and are lamented when they die. But, turn to the ac- 
count of the world to come ; turn to the page that re- 
veals the future ; and all is a blank : there is no record 
there revealing the cross ; none disclosing the words of 
love and deeds of mercy that made angels shout ; char- 
ity wept not over their memory when they were gone, 
nor strewed she fiowem over their grave.* 

“ How, just such a man, we contend, may have been 
this Dives ; a jolly companion, a high liver, fond of 
society, dwelling in splendor, a giver of handsome en- 
tertainments, lavishing his money freely on his lusts 
and pleasures, liked by his friends, admired for his dis- 
play in the world. And notwithstanding this is the 
ugliest picture the parable will permit us to draw of 
him ; when he dies, we find him in that place where 
the worm dieth not. Aye, he had frittered away his 
life in vanities : while he could clothe his own body 
splendidly, and pamper his appetite, he had no bowels 
of compassion, no eye to see suffering humanity. A 
starving mendicant could lie at his gate ; and his 


® “ Strew flowers o’er my grave.” Tacitus. 


34:0 THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 

cry for a morsel of bread be beard with indiffer- 
ence. 

“ Metbinks, and I tremble to utter tbe thought, be- 
cause of its awful truthfulness, that the self-indulgences 
of mankind in fashionable life, and what they are 
pleased to tenn their innocent allowances in pleasure 
and luxurious living, that minister to pure woiidliness, 
and turn their hearts from the wants of the great human 
family, and lock them in the embraces of coldness, un- 
kindness, pomp, and uncharitableness, will people the 
abode of Dives with inmates, and fill it with eternal 
laments. 

‘‘ Before -US, we have the case of a man living simply 
for SELF. His riches became a burning curse ; because, 
while he was rich unto himself, he was poor unto God 
and humanity. He was a man of the world, and took 
the world for his portion ; and in that he received his 
reward. 

“ How does he differ from all those who live by the 
same rule, and seek the same reward ? How does he 
differ from all those who ‘ seek their own, and not the 
things that are Jesus Christ’s?’ 

“ But this rich man died! yea, he died! His wealth 
could not purchase for him a release from the common 
lot of man. Hay, he must die ; the purj)le must yield 
to the shroud, and that pampered body be food for 
worms 1 And now, in the other world, he entem on 
the reward that he sought throughout his life. Sin is 
permitted to go on; and, arousing from his pleasing 
dream of earth, he must reap the harvest that he must 
garner forever. We behold his body consigned to the 
tomb, surrounded with the trappings of wealth ; his soul 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


341 


has winged its way to that society which it has been 
trained to enjoy. Let ns draw a curtain over the rest.” 

The aforesaid sermon was the occasion of bringing 
matters to a crisis, in some quarters. It was supposed 
to bear down heavily in more directions than one ; at 
all events, it was approjiriated here and there person- 
ally, if we are to judge by the confusion displayed du- 
ring its delivery. First, Mrs. Nochurch arose, and, 
slamming her pew door lustily after her, hurried out of 
church ; in a few moments, she was followed by Mrs. 
Fussy and Mrs. Fastidious, each of whom manifested no 
small amount of indignation as they passed out of the 
house of God. 

The Blemmertons had the good or ill luck, — ^we leave 
the reader to judge which, — to be absent. They had 
gone into mourning for the cousin of Ben Slocum, the 
tall saint, whom Mr. Simon Cobblecanting canonized. 
And as it was unfashionable, at that day, for those who 
were enjoying “ the luxury of woe” to go to church, 
while the first fit of it, the “ grand deuil,” was on hand, 
their pew was empty. And of course, not being pres- 
ent, they did not take any part of the sermTon to them- 
selves; on the principle, that on such subjects absent 
company is always excepted, — (when the period of the 

petit deuil” arrived, they appeared again in church.) 
Indeed, Mrs. Blemmerton and Miss Deli ah Airmyth 
would hardly have been able, from fatigue the day be- 
fore, to attend church on this occasion, had not the other 
consideration prohibited ; for they had quite worn them- 
selves out, before the counters of the mourning depart- 
ments of many of the large and fashionable stores ; in 
which (to them) laudable work, if they did not commit 


342 


THE BLEMMERTONS; OE, . 


numberless sins themselves, they left numberless clerks 
sinners, who most likely were ashamed to show their 
faces in church on the Lord’s day. 

Shortly after the dismissal of the congregation, it be- 
gan to rain in toiTents, and continued all the afternoon 
and night, to such a degree as to require the omission of 
the second service. A great many were wicked enough 

to say, that it rained floods of joy, that St. ’s wus 

free at last of some of its incumbrances and busybodies. 
We commend not the saying, but record it merely as in 
duty bound ; nor as a faithful chronicler can we with- 
hold the remark, that numbers of the congregation re- 
joiced. 

It was unmistakably so ; the ladies had deserted the 
church, never again to unite in its saintly worehip, its 
scriptural and primitive Liturgy, — the Church of their 
baptism, which is linked with all the past of the Church 
of God throughout all ages. They had never fully 
realized what it was, to have the Kingdom of God come 
upon them ; what it was, all tlieir life to have lived un- 
der that divine polity, which, through ages, has come 
down to us’in one unbroken line ; what it was, to have 
dwelt within the folds of the one Catholic and Apos- 
tolic Church, surrounded with all the trophies of the 
Gospel, and the glories of that world of light in which 
dwell Prophets, Priests, Kings, Apostles, Martyrs, and 
Confessors, Cherubim and Seraphim, a mighty host, “ a 
cloud of witnesses^ surrounding us, and holding fellow- 
ship with us ; what it was, to have been akin to God- 
Man, in that sweet bond of union, by which the past 
and the future of Christ’s Mystical Body are brought, 
as it were, into the present, in one grand central point 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 84:3 

of love ; love flo^ving out from Christ, and gathering 
into one fellowship angels and saints forever ! 

And they are gone! The team of sorrow follow 
them, as they mnst, whenever the relentless hand of 
Schism tears the seamless robe of Christ. They soon 
swelled the list of reprisals for Dr. Riproarer ; the jol- 
lification is renewed on earth, while the Angels veil 
their faces and weep.* Drop your tears upon the earth, 
ye “ white- winged” messengers of love; they will wash 
out none of its guilt ; only the tears and blood of Im- 
manuel will do that : but they may glitter about our 
pathway, and warn us of danger. 

In theological tendencies, in the great school of In- 
differentism, we doubt not that these ladies found more 
sympathy in their new connection ; and here we leave 
them, with the remark, that Mr. Fussy and Mr. Fastid- 
ious followed their wives, who, in their estimation, were 
perfect exemplars of every excellence. 

Not so, however, with Mr. Nochurch. His wife pos- 
sessed not sufficient influence over him to mould him to 
her liking. He had a real attachment to the Church, 
although, to all intents and purposes, a worldly man ; 
and, though not standing on high ground, even theoret- 
ically as a thoroughly trained Churchman, he aimed to 
be consistent, and protested to his wife, that he discov- 
ered nothing in Mr. Lovegood’s sermon calculated to 
raise 2^ furore / nothing that he deemed justly offensive ; 
nothing that did not naturally flow out of the subject, or 
that was not strictly true and highly appropriate ; and 


^ The sin of Schism, so sharply rebuked by the Apostle, is painfully 
disregarded by many. 


344 THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 

he was ready to venture the assertion, that Mr. Love- 
good had no human being in particular in his mind, 
when he preached that sermon. Moreover, Mr. ISTo- 
church had been a member of the choir for a number 
of years ; he had a fine bass voice, and delighted in 
church music; and this, if no higher consideration 
could have moved him, would have kept him at his 
post. His wife gave up, in despair. Every Sunday 
found her at Dr. Kiproarer’s meeting-house, and her hus- 
band at his post in St. ’s church. 

And here we must briefly review Mr. Hochurch’s 
early history. His parents were Presbyterians. They 
had reared six sons, and of course it was their highest 
ambition to train them in their own faith. They trusted, 
too, to see one of them a minister of their persuasion ; 
accordingly, as they severally arrived at the proper 
age, they were sent {i. e. the five elder) to a strict 
Presbyterian College. Put, by some strange, unac- 
countable Providence to them, they one by one came 
home from the Calvinistic School, thorough Church- 
men ; and he on whom they had set their hearts as a 
Minister, took, indeed, that holy function, but preferred 
the reality, which in due time he received in the Episco- 
pal laying on of hands, and commission to preach the 
glad tidings of salvation, and administer the Sacraments. 

Our Mr. Hochurch was the youngest of the six ; and 
when the time arrived for him to leave the paternal 
roof, for the completion of his education, the following 
conversation passed between the parents : 

“ It is time, Mr. Hochurch,” said the mother, “ for 
William to be sent to college. He is now fifteen, the 
age at which his brothers were sent. And you know I 


DOTTINGS BY TKE WAYSIDE. 345 

am not in favor of postponing so important a matter. 
What do yon say ? Shall he be got ready ‘‘ I sup- 
pose' so, my dear,” said the father. “But my sons 
have all thus far deserted my Church and faith. It 
appears to be a hard case ; but I know they all are 
thoroughly honest ; this is the only consolation I have. 
They have become Episcopalians, on principle ; but, in 
so doing, they condemned their parents. It is hard to 
be borne ; but I suppose it must be so. And yet, when 
I reflect on it, I almost tremble to send William away, 
lest he should be biased too.” 

“Well,” said the mother, “it is indeed a hard case. 
But I have thought of a plan. We have sent all oui 
sons to a Presbyterian College ; and, in spite of every 
eflbrt, they have turned out Episcopalians. Suppose 
now we reverse it, and send William to an Episcopal 
College ; it may be that he will come out a Presbyte- 
rian.” The husband smiled, and yet he could not sup- 
press a sigh. “ Be it as you say, my dear. But I fear 
the prospect is slender.” 

Master William Hochurch was accordingly sent to a 
Church College, and came out perhaps a little nearer 
Presbyterianism than some of his brothers, but not 
quite the genuine thing.* He learned to love, if not to 
understand the Church ; and this was sufficient to save 
him from the influence of his wife, and the little party 
with whom she was identifled. So true is it, that good 
ieed, sown even with a sparing hand, wdll take root, 
spring up, and bear fruit. 


^ We write from life; the like has occurred. We do not suppose 
that Presbyterian Colleges are good nurseries for the Church. 

15 « 


346 THE BLEMMEETONS; OE, 

The affair of the Missionary, too, had had a marked 
influence upon Mr. ITochurch. From the day that he 
had followed up the Missionary, and given him twenty- 
firve dollars, he felt as though somehow it had begun a 
new era in his life. He felt as though he would like to 
be a better man. It was but the feeble whisperings of 
conscience, or as an angel’s voice speaking in his heart, 
“ This is the way, walk ye in it for so it is, that a 
good deed does reflect itself back inwardly upon our 
spiritual being. 

We are far from supposing, that good actions neces- 
sarily make him good who performs them; but we 
know, that they set the soul to thinking, and often con- 
vince the man that he is capable of doing good. And 
one good deed leads to another ; goodness begets good- 
ness, just as evil begets evil. 

“To set the outward actions right, though with an 
honest intention, and not so to regard the inward disor- 
ders of the heart, from which certain actions flow, is 
but to be putting the index of a clock right, while the 
clock itself is out of order. ” 

We have asserted nothing in opposition to this apho- 
rism, nor shall we do so ; still, we insist upon it, that 
even w^hen the inside of the clock is all right, you can- 
not have correct time without putting the index right. 

And here, for the present, we must leave Mr. Ho- 
church, and ask the reader to bear in mind, that, 
according to current gossip, Mr. Lovegood had been 
twice, within the past six months, on a visit to Mrs. 
Densmore’s school. This was true. But he had not 
gone for that special pm’pose on both occasions ; he 
merely called to see Agnes, on his way to visit a brother 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


347 


clergyman, who resided some miles from her school. 
This clergyman, the 'Rev. Mi*. Hard worker, was the 
E-ector of a remote secluded country parish, in a moun- 
tainous district. Mr. Lovegood had been acquainted 
with him in his youth. Many years had intervened ; 
but during the past winter they met, and it was agreed 
that Mr. Lovegood should pay him a visit in the sum- 
mer. 

Accordingly, taking advantage of an opportunity 
offered by the kindness of a brother, who proffered to 
fill his place in St. ’s for a few weeks, Mr. Love- 

good, on a bright day in midsummer, took leave of 
heat, dust, bricks, and smoke, on a visit to his friend. 
He spent but one Sunday with Mr. Hardworker, and 
of course preached, his friend reading prayers. Mr. 
Hardworker was an excellent parish priest of the old 
school, rather of the “high and dry” order, but true to 
his flock, and a pattern of humble-mindedness. Mr. 
Lovegood soon discovered that his friend was a man of 
tlie most marked eccentricities. Being remote from 
other clergymen, and secluded from their intercourse 
and example, and the conflict of mind which serves al- 
ways to keep one posted up, and save him from the 
slavery of habits of carelessness and negligence in the 
performance of divine service, his peculiarities and ec- 
centricities had become a second nature to him ; and 
now, having arrived at that period of life which consti- 
tuted him a father in his parish, he seemed privileged 
to say and do things in his own way. 

Having gone through the service, with as few blun- 
ders as might be expected, he announced his psalm ; 
and having read it line by line, in a long nasal drawl, 


348 


THE BLEMMEETONS; OE, 


he slowly raised his eyes, at the same time lifting his 
glasses rather above the visual organs, a custom which 
had become stereotyped with him, and he addressed 
his congregation somewhat thus: “Brethren, if any one 
here present is a good hand at psalmody, I shall be 
obliged to him if he will raise the tune ; for I have a 
cold, and am in rather a bad plight for singing.” 

There is a pause, and a wonderful fluttering about the 
church, an intolerable amount of sneezing, tickling of 
throats, and coughing. All have colds to-day ; the in- 
fluenza is contagious ; no one starts the music. 

“Well,” continued good Mr. Hard worker, “if there 
is no one else to do it, I suppose I must.” And with 
that he sounded a sort of key-note, something between 
a hiccough and a regular cough, and set out like a man 
in earnest. What the tune was, tradition does not in- 
form us ; it remains yet a profound mystery. It went 
up and down, high and low, sharp and flat, a sort of 
zig-zag, see-saw, — but mostly flat, — yes, decidedly so. 

A few of the congregation joined in ; each, however, 
on his or her own account, without regard to tune or 
time. And the first stanza was finished, all pretty well 
except the last line, which got down so low as to be 
past endurance. 

* Meantime, in the oscillations of his body and head, 
occasioned by the efibrt of singing, Mr. Hardworker’s 
glasses have fallen, from their position on his forehead, 
upon the bridge of his nose, and thence have gradually 
worked their way down, until they hang on the very 
end of it, ready to fall on the floor. There is a pause 
for respiration. Mr. Hardworker essays to raise his eyes 
from the Prayer-book, as if to speak ; and away go the 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 349 

glasses Hpon the floor ! “ Ah !” exclaimed he, stooping 
to pick them up, “ that was pretty well done !” The 
glasses, or the music ? “ But raise a leetle if you please 

on the last two words of the last line. It sounded rather 
too low, to me.” 

What Mr. Lovegood’s emotions were, we leave to the 
imaginative reader to decide. The congregation seemed 
in no way disconcerted, which, Mr. Lovegood thought, 
and so do we, argued favorably for them. Perhaps 
they were accustomed to such scenes, and therefore had 
learned to regard them as part and parcel of the natural 
order of events. 

Nothing, however, is without proflt, even to the most 
proflcient, when viewed in the proper light. And we 
shall see that even this event, trivial as it was, was 
turned to account by Mr. Lovegood. At the period of 

which we write, church music, even in the city of , 

was not so perfectly understood and appreciated as it is 
at the present day. Chanting was then but little used, 
and note-books were rare. Eeflecting on this incident, 
Mr. Lovegood came to the wise conclusion, that the 
singing in his own church needed improvement. Act- 
ing upon the hint, he returned home fully purposed to 
revolutionize his choir, and enter upon a grand series 

of improvements. And perhaps the church in , 

and throughout the country, will never know the full 
amount of its indebtedness to Mr. Hardworker, and his 
tune that was a “ leetle too low, on the last two words of 
the last line !” 

The choir of St. ’s was reorganized, new music 

books obtained, and sundry additional aids called into 
service. 


350 THE B L E M M E R T O N S ; OR, 

IS'othing leads to perfection sooner than practice ; in 
the art of singing, this has been verified from time im- 
memorial. Every Friday evening, the newly-organized 
choir met in the church, for practice and improvement. 
From this the Eector expected the most happy results ; 
a spirit of inquiry was excited, the feelings of the young 
persons of the parish were enlisted, and Mr. Lovegood 
rejoiced in the prospect of accomplishing an important 
work. But as winter approached, it was suggested by 
some one, that it would be much more comfortable to 
meet at private houses for practice. Mr. Lovegood, 
though opposed to this arrangement, suffered himself 
to be overruled. Professor Singman, the leader of the 
choir, was decidedly in favor of it, and he was very 
popular with members of the choir. He was just from 
the land of song, and full of music. Unfortunately, he 
was a Congregationalist, (but he was the best they could 
get,) and had often manifested a decided preference for 
the music in vogue amongst his sect. This predilection 
he had never been able to indulge in the Church ; he 
was therefore too happy, at the prospect of getting the 
choir a little free from the control of the Eector, that 
he might occasionally exercise his penchant for some of 
his favorite tunes. 

The first of these meetings for rehearsal, was held at 
the house of Mr. Allright. Mr. Allright was a good 
Churchman, which implies that we consider him a very 
good man ; but he had a large circle of Presbyterian 
and Methodist friends, and these he saw no harm in in- 
viting to his house on this occasion, to hear the music, 
and take part in the exercises of the evening. 

Mr. Allright did not think this exactly the thing; 


DOT TINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


351 


but what else could he do ? It was his house ; and they 
were friends whom he was unwilling to offend. Take 
it all in all, it appeared to be the best thing that he could 
do. Still he was not exactly satisfied with himself, nor 
was he surprised to discover that Mr. Lovegood was not 
pleased at finding so large a company, not actual mem- 
bers of the choir. He thought it would tend to distract 
their attention, prove a hindrance, and in the end oc- 
casion evil. 

notwithstanding, the first meeting passed off very 
pleasantly, with a single exception. All were seated 
around a long table ; the music books, containing those 
mysterious ciphers almost as unmanageable as Greek or 
Hebrew lying open before them ; and Professor Sing- 
man standing erect at the head of the table, waving his 
hand, beating time, doing the flourishes, with eyes 
closed, waving from side to side and to and fro, as 
though a storm alternately beat upon him from the four 
great points of the compass. It was really a rare sight. 
But, alas ! for the exception, mutatis mutandis^ so the 
world goes. It’s not all gold that glitters ; nor may we 
always expect to have sunshine. A church anthem was 
begun; up jumped Miss Presbyterian, a blue-stocking 
of the real grit, and, throwing back her head, with an 
uncomfortable amount (to tender nerves) of surprise 
and indignation flashing from her eyes, walked hasti- 
ly out of the room, seeming to say in her every motion, 
“ I did not know I was invited here to listen to any 
thing from that Book 

Time rolled on, and the choir meetings increased in 
numbers. The thing was decidedly popular. It took 
charmingly. It made such a capital frolic. The young 


352 THE BLEMMEKTOKS; OK, 

gentlemen bronglit candies, almonds, raisins, and otliei* 
delectables ; and the yonng ladies, of course, assisted in 
consuming them. 

So soon as the ladies were seated around the long ta- 
ble, the books opened. Professor Singman at his post, 
and all in readiness, — slap, slap, here and there, first a 
paper of candy, then one of almonds or raisins would 
drop upon the table. And then a merry laugh, or a 
few bright smiles. These must be discussed, kiss- verses 
and all. It was the life of singing. Candy cleared 
the throat, and tuned the organs of sound, while the 
raisins and almonds, we suppose, strengthened the lungs, 
and the pretty kiss-verses banished bashfulness and en- 
nui ! 

And so the evening passed ; a sprinkle of music, a 
shower of tete-a-tete, and the raisins, almonds, and 
candy ! 

Ah ! Mr. Hardworker, what have you done ? Are 
you not answerable for getting your brother into such a 
dilemma ? 

In spite of Mr. Lovegood, Professor Singman would, 
when he could get an opportunity, in which he was 
sorely baffled by the candy, etc., introduce a touch 
of his Congregationalist tunes, — the farther from the 
Church’s anthems the better for him ! Congregational 
chants were much simpler and more readily learned. 
"When he got them to be masters of the chanting art, 
they could then undertake, with more ease and profi- 
ciency, the chants of the Church. They were, in short, 
to be drilled through Congregationalism. 

Mr. Lovegood thought, and so do we, that the Church 
was safest in doing her own drilling. She needs no 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


353 


sc|ioolmaster in the shape of Congregationalism, nor 
any other ism^ to teach her any thing. A war of words 
was the inevitable consequence. Mr. Lovegood put his 
veto, as was his bounden duty, on all the proceedings ; 
and discovering that a mistake had been made, profit- 
ing by experience, he set to work to repair it, with all 
haste. 

The new choir was dissolved, and another organized. 
Professor Singman became highly offended, and de- 
clared, that he would have nothing more to do with it. 
A number of the young ladies and gentlemen dropped 
off, and united with the Professor’s party. Mr. Love- 
good of course was soundly abused ; it was n piece of 
priestcraft and popery ; a high-handed measure. Mr. 
Allright, Mr. I^ochurch, and all the more substantial of 
the old choir sustained Mr. Lovegood ; and he lived 
through the tornado raised by the professor. 

But enough had been done, to awaken a spirit of in- 
quiry and improvement. The new organization em- 
braced substantial men and women ; Church music be- 
came the order of the day in ; the work spread 

abroad ; new note-books sprung into existence ; and the 
Church was edified. 

Let no man despise the day of small things, nor 
neglect the most trivial incident in life. Accidents 
have blessed the world with many of the grandest dis- 
coveries made by the mind of man. And, for aught 
that we know, the falling of Mr. Hardworker’s specta- 
cles had something to do with the rapid growth of mu- 
sical talents and attainments in our country ! 


354 


THE BLEMMERTONS; OK, 


CHAPTER XXX. • 

A PREDICAMENT. MR. SLOPILL WITH SAWDUST IN HIS 
EYES. GOSSIPING. ME. LOVEGOOD MARRIED. A TER- 
RIBLE SURPRISE. SMELLING BOTTLES, ETC. 

Mr. Slopill, as we have related, after leaving Mr. 
Lovegood, hurried to his bacon establishment, and 
despatched a note to Miss Deliah Airmyth. Affairs 
certainly looked squally, and needed an explanation. 
Mr. Slopill was not the man to be trifled with. Miss 
Dele had plainly given him to understand, that Mi*. 
Lovegood had addressed her ; and he denied it in toto. 
The pastor must be confounded, or the lady must make 
suitable explanations. It was certainly an unpleasant 
affair. On the one hand stood the lady, on the other 
the Hector ; backing the whole stood the prospective 
dollars and cents. Mr. Slopill had been brought into 
direct conflict with a clergyman, had made a ridiculous 
dolt of himself, and had been obliged, for the time 
being, to retire from the fleld, totally discomfited. 

These evils were overpowering to a gentleman of 
delicate sensibilities ; and if Mr. SlopilPs whiskers 
were not duly brushed, and his head oiled and combed, 
during the hours of suspense, surely the most fastidious 
will find in their breasts a generous excuse for him. 

And was not Miss Deliah in a predicament ? Mr. 
Lovegood had been charged with evil intentions, 
bearded as it were, in his own sanctum, told that he 


DOTTTNGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


355 


had played an nngentlemanly part in addressing the 
lady, and all upon her own authority. He had also - 
informed Mr. Slopill, that he had Miss Deliah’s word 
and solemn asseveration, that no hetrothment existed 
between them ; of all of which she was hut too con- 
scious. Was ever young lady in so sad a plight ? O, 
ye knights and ladies of romance, can ye not come to 
the rescue of Miss Deliah Airmyth Blemmerton? Ye 
who have made so many hair-hreadtli escapes in the 
romance of real life, can ye not succor a poor defence- 
less, hapless, and helpless young lady, who has drawn 
about her so many nets of destruction that she cannot 
escape ? Pity, pity, ye sighing swains ! Comfort, 
comfort, ye acute dames, and persevering maidens, who 
understand the art of solving such difficult ques- 
tions ! 

What is Miss Dele to do ? — Lose a certain prospect, 
let go a sure anchor, and float out on an uncertain tide ? 
Oh, terrible dilemma ! Miss Dele is now far gone out 
of her teens ; prospects are growing more and more 
slender ; even two hundred thousand seems to he an 
insufficient bait. Leave it to the ladies! Miss Dele 
was obliged to make an expose to her mother, humili- 
ating as it was. A counsellor she must have : “ In the 
multitude of counsellors there is safety her mother was 
a multitude 1 “ Write to him at once. Dele,” said she, — 

“ break it all off, and leave it with me 1” Miss Dele 
wrote a scathing, withering note to Mr. Slopill, revohing 
the engagement that had existed between them for sev- 
eral years. How far that mended the matter we under- 
take not to say ; but, that night, Mr. Slopill apologized 
to Mr. Lovegood. The mists rolled away, and if Mr. 


356 


THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 


Slopill was not a wiser man, lie deserves to be set down 
as a stupid dotard. 

When Mr. Lovegood became acquainted with all the 
facts, we can scarcely be surprised, that he thought it 
rather an unbecoming episode in the life of a candidate 
for confirmation, and highly derogatory to the character 
of a serious person. 

Troubles, it will be perceived, were fast accumulating 
on Mr. Lovegood’s hands. The split between Mr. Slo- 
pill and Miss Dele served to renew the old stories ; for 
Miss Dele no sooner found herself adrift on the wide 
ocean of uncertainty, than she set herself diligently to 
the task of again entrapping Mr. Slopill. In order to 
accomplish this, she had by slow degrees and insinua- 
tions to ingratiate herself into his favor. This was not 
to be accomplished, without making a scape-goat of the 
Rector. Her first work was to convince Mr. Slopill, 
by what means it little booted, that after all Mr. Love- 
good was not exactly so clear as he might have been ; 
but let it pass now ; in future she should know better 
how to act. The two hundred thousand assisted Mr. 
Sloj^ill’s faith very much, and the breach was soon 
healed. Of course, to keep Mr. Slopill alive, the old 
story must at least be insinuated. 

Mrs. Fussy, Mrs. Fastidious, and Mrs. Hochurch, 
were more active than ever ; and even the elder Blem- 
mertons were getting a little more decided in their 
stand. The old groggery story, too, was revived, with 
fresh relish and gusto, notwithstanding the quietus that 
it had received. Added to all this, was the afifair 
of Ben Slocum, and the desertion of the church by the 
aforesaid ladies ; all of which, in certain quarters, was 


DOT TINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


357 


accounted a great loss to the poor church, and a lasting 
dishonor to the Rector. And worse than all, the tocsin 
rang with the alarm, that Mr. Lovegood was playing 
at the tune of “ two strings to his how.” It was an 
established fact, that he had courted Dele Blemmerton ; 
and it was just as certain, that he had gone to Mrs. 
Densmore’s to court Agnes Wallace. The gossipers 
knew all these to be stubborn facts, and they were not 
slow in relating them. And O, wasn’t Mr. Lovegood 
a bad man ? O dear, O dear, was such a man fit to 
preach the gospel ; courting two ladies at one time ? 
O, fie on him, fie on him ! What shall be done with 
him ? Who ever heard of good Dr. Skyrocket, or Dr. 
Riproarer, doing such a thing ? Ah me ! ah me ! it’s 
too bad, it’s mean, it’s contemptible. 

Meantime, Dr. Goodenough had paid the debt of na- 
ture ; and now, by the terms of agreement between 
him and the vestry, the Rectory was to be given up to 
Mr. Lovegood, who, we should have stated before, had 
boarded all the while with Mr. Friendly. Mr. Love- 
good would not consent to see the aged widow remove 
from the home which, for so many years, had been 
sanctified by her presence. Every nook and corner of 
it seemed eloquent of her name and praise. It was 
therefore agreed, that he should remove to the Rectory, 
and take up his residence there, leaving the manage- 
ment of the household to Mrs. Goodenough. This was 
deemed a judicious and excellent arrangement, by all 
the parishioners. Mrs. Goodenough, though enjoying 
excellent health, was an aged lady, but exceedingly 
activp for her time of life ; and it was afiirmed, that 
Mr. Lovegood would make her home agreeable to her, 


358 THE BLEMMEETONS; OE, 

and cheer her declining days, as a son dearly be- 
loved. 

It was thought to happen well, on another account. 
The time for Agnes to leave Mrs. Densmore’s had now 
arrived ; and every thing seemed to be propitious, for 
Mr. Lovegood to bring her home, to live with himself 
and Mrs. Goodenough. 

This report was not long in finding circulation. The 
knowing ones took it up with delight. Some thought 
it a high-handed measure. The Blemmertons did not 
hesitate to say, that it would be a disgrace. Whether 
Dr. Riproarer preached a sermon on the subject, tra- 
dition does not relate. 

So it was : poor Agnes was already dragged into the 
arena of strife, and her name was bandied about with 
an unsparing hand. Happily for her, she was ignorant 
of all that was said. Happy in her conscious rectitude, 
looking forward to the day when she should join her 
dear good father, as she always called him, in his own 
home, which would be hers ; and yet twining her heart 
about her fond school associations, her days glided 
away in mingled sadness and delight ; delight, at the 
prospect of having a home that she could call her own, 
and the companionship, protection, and guardianship, 
of one unto whom she could look as a father ; sadness, 
at the thought that she must tear herself away from 
her beloved “ Mother” Densmore, and the joyous remi- 
niscences that clustered about her school. 

And now, every evening, when the little glee-song 
is sung, Agnes is observed to steal away to her own 
room ; and there, falling on her knees, she pour^ out 
her heart in prayer, and finds solace and comfort in 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


359 


the thought, that, come what might, she would every- 
where he under the protection of her Father in heaven. 

Yes, thou lone wanderer over the way of life, God is 
everywhere ; and everywhere is He the Father of the 
faithful ; everywhere is He the Father of those who 
bear the impress of the Son. The earth and the heav- 
ens are but a vast temple of praise ; the sun, moon, and 
stars, but glittering lamps to light it withal. And, lo ! 
when the heavens and the earth shall pass away, and 
the new heavens, and the new earth shall be revealed, 
that too will be a vast temple of praise, of which the 
Lamb that was slain shall be the Light and the Glory. 
Go out on thy way of life. Trust in Christ and be 
strong. God is everywhere. But nowhere is He more 
graciously present, than in the hearts of the humble, 
and contrite, and faithful, when lifted up unto Him in 
prayer, or when, in the Holy Sanctuary, they draw 
nigh unto Him in the devout reception of the means of 
grace. 

Agnes had been confirmed at a late visitation of the 
Bishop, and was now a devout and regular communi- 
cant of the Church. She was therefore not without the 
aids and comforts of divine grace, to meet the real 
issues of life. And when she came down from her 
chamber, no one would have supposed, that scalding 
tears had chased each other down her cheeks. A ra- 
diant smile played over her countenance, bespeaking 
the calm which reigned in her heart. 

But, at last, the day of separation came. The exam- 
ination is over; the diplomas are given; the parting 
kiss, the long, long embrace, the tears of separation, the 
“ mother’s” blessing, are all that remain ! 


360 THE BLEMMERTONS: OR, 

On the appointed day, Mr. Lovegood’s carriage drove 
np to the door of the Seminary ; and lo, and behold ! 
wonders upon wonders ! there is a lady in it. 

The door of the carriage is thrown open ; the lady 
steps out; and Agnes has a mother. Mr. Lovegood 
comes up smiling, laughing, and weeping. “This is 
your daughter, my dear.” “ And dear Agnes, — and 
this is Agnes, — the sweet Agnes.” And they both em- 
braced her, shedding tears of joy. Even Mother Dens- 
more weeps ; the girls, too, sympathize in the delights 
of the moment ; they sing again the glee-song, laugh- 
ing through tears. It is a day of sad partings and hap- 
py greetings. All are happy ; all are sorrowful. ^ It is 
a day of bright sunshine ; . if there be a cloud, it is 
gilded by the rosy hues of light and joy. 

It is a world of vicissitudes. And Mr. Lovegood is 
married ! And he neither addressed Agnes, nor Deliah 
Airmyth Blemmerton? Just so. The ladies for once 
were mistaken. They had no one to blame but them- 
selves. “ It all came,” as Aunt Sally Milk-and-w^ater 
afterwards said, “from their being too wise and too 
anxious.” 

But, as yet, the busybodies are in profounil igno- 
rance. During Mr. Lovegood’s absence, nothing but 
the expected arrival had been canvassed ; the disgrace 
of the thing ; the town talk it would create. Several 
of them, too, were all anxiety, wondering whether 
Agnes Wallace would return as Mrs. Eector ; in that 
event, numerous plans were laid. “ The Blemmertons 
did not intend to recognize her ; the Misses Highflyer 
could not think of noticing a clergyman’s wife who 
sprung from nothing.” Mrs. Hochurch, Mrs. Fussy, 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 361 

and Mrs. Fastidious, who stilF croaked, declared they 
were glad of it ; it would teach some people a grain of 
common sense ; they knew she would he very extrava- 
gant ; that would he some consolation ; the congregation 
would soon get clear of Mr. Lovegood, they reckoned, 
when that girl came into the Eectory as the Eector’s 
wife. Even Aunt Sally shook her hpad ominously, and 
gave an occasional sigh, hy way of chorus ; for the old 
lady began to he a little uneasy, lest she had committed 
herself too soon on the Eector’s side. “ Ah, well, well, 
I reckon we’ll soon know the ‘ wust,’ as my poor mo- 
ther used to say ; hut the times have changed, — ^yes, yes, 
there’s more ‘ lamin’ now they say, that’s it, I reckon.” 

Meantime, at a late hour of the night, Mr. and Mrs. 
Lovegood and Agnes arrived at the Eectory. Even 
Mrs. Goodenough was taken hy surprise ; for Mr. Love- 
good had not given her so much as a hint of his inten- 
tions. But her heart was glad, when she discovered 
that her fine son, as she called him, had made so excel- 
lent a match, and her old home was to he enlivened hy 
two such heings as Mrs. Lovegood and the charming 
Agnes. 

E’otwithstanding the pledges of Mrs. Blemmerton, 
that if Agnes came to the Eectory she would not pay 
her any attention, yet, having heard, the next morning, 
that Mr. Lovegood and Agnes had arrived, she was too 
impatient to wait for particulars, forgot all her stormy 
resolutions, and, long before 12 o’clock, she and Miss 
Dele were attired, and waiting for their carriage to 
drive up to the Eectory and learn the worst. ‘‘ It can 
hardly be so,” ejaculated Mrs. B., — “ but, I’m deter- 
mined to know.” “ Dear me, the mornings are so long,” 
' 16 


362 


THE BLEMMEKTONS; OK, 




taking out her watch, “ but it is twelve, and there’s the 
carriage ; come. Dele.” And the ‘ladies, Miss Dele es- 
pecially, dressed in very becoming style, plain, neat, 
simple, free from flowers, rouge, or any thing of the 
kind, and looking as innocent, quiet, gentle, fascinating 
as possible, jump in, and away they drive. 

The bell rings ; .they enter the parlor of the Kectory : 
it is a little dark ; it is well for the ladies, else in a 
fuller light they might have exhibited signs of pallor. 

Mr. Lovegood enters. “ O, Mr. Lovegood, I’m so 
glad you’ve returned, and all safe and sound. And 
how is Agnes ? How does she look ? 0,1 wanted to 

see her so badly, that I could not wait another day !” 

Agnes enters the parlor, and is introduced as Miss 
Wallace. What a comfort ! And now a dark room is 
comfortable on another account. The pallor has de- 
parted, and a crimson glow blushes on the cheeks of 
the ladies. O, how red, — how it burns, — and how the 
eyes sparkle, — Miss Dele is certainly getting handsome. 
She and the two hundred thousand would not be so bad 
a bargain, after all. “ And now Miss Agnes, I suppose, 
has flnished her education, and you will not send her to 
Madame Fanciful’s?” “ Agnes must determine that for 
herself ; what do you say, my daughter ?” “ I expect 

always to be a student,” replied she, “ but I do not 
desire to go to Madame Fanciful’s.” 

“ She is a famous teacher ; she ma^^s girls so accom- 
plished. My Dele, and Julia Jasper, never w^ent to 
any other school. And I reckon now, Mr. Lovegood, 
you begin to feel like taking my advice ; the Eectory 
will look so forlorn without — Well, you .know — ” “ O, 

let me introduce you. Madam, to Mrs. Lovegood,” said 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


863 


he, rising, as his wife entered the room. ITow darken 
the room, bring in water, a smelling bottle, let no light 
intrude. O ye cynics, close your eyes ! O, ye mirth- 
ful nymphs, look not upon the scene. What concern is 
it of yours, if the ladies grow pale, and struggle hard 
to suppress their chagrin and disappointment? 

“ A short call, — many calls to make this morning ! 
Dear me, it’s nearly one o’clock ; come. Dele, — good 
morning, ladies, — good morning, Mr. Lovegood.” 

The ladies got into the carriage, scarcely seeing the 
pavement, and drove home. “Well, well, well !” ex- 
claimed Mrs. 13., as she threw hereelf back in the 
carriage, “ if that isn’t cool !” Miss Dele hummed a 
tune : “ I never lov’d a tree or flower.” 

“ The tall, gawky, ugly thing. What does she look 
like ? A pretty clergyman’s wife ! A charming pros- 
pect for the parish, isn’t it ? Two women to support, — 
curls too, — rigged out like a young girl, full of airs and 
graces.” 

Drive home, ladies, and take an eflervescing draught, 
and a little ice-water. Mr. Lovegood has committed 
no crime. He has only followed your advice ; and, in 
his choice, he has acted on the principle of the “ Know- 
Hothings.” He is certainly old enough to choose for 
himself. 

And now you would like to know who Mrs. Love- 
good was, and to have a description of her. We know 
not, that either would be particularly edifying, but 
suppose we must gratify so reasonable a desire. She 
was the sister of the Kev. Mr. Hardworlmr, whom Mr. 
Lovegood met in his trip to the mountains. Let that 
suffice for one fact ; for the other, Mrs. Lovegood was 


364 THE BLEMMEKTONS; OR, 

about thirty-six years of age, of prepossessing appear- 
ance and dignified manners ; one who, upon a slight 
acquaintance, would have been judged fully qualified 
to fill her station, with honor to herself and husband, 
and good to the church. W e have no taste for the task 
of describing the color of a lady’s eyes or hair, or the 
length of her nose : please excuse us, on that score. 
We are not writing sentimentalism. She was neither 
very handsome, nor exceedingly hard-favored. She 
pleased Mr. Lovegood ; and so she ought to please you, 
as it is a matter that does not in the least concern you. 

The Blemmertons doffed their mourning about this 
time ; whether for joy that Mr. Lovegood was married, 
or Ben Slocum’s cousin dead, we undertake not to 
write. 

Aunt Sally said, “ she reckoned they’d hev peace 
now. She was really glad it was over ; some people 
were so queer. It didn’t used to be so in her young 
days. They hev too much larnin now.” The truth is. 
Aunt Sally was fast working round on the Hector’s 
side again. 

The Blemmertons continued their pew in church, and 
attended about once a month. It was a long time 
before they visited the Hectory again ; upon which 
there hangs a tale,” which in due time will come out. 
ISTor was Agnes invited to any of their entertainments. 
Aunt Sally said, “ it was because they were ashamed 
of themselves.” But, in this, she was, we think, mis- 
taken. * 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


365 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

AGNES WALLACE AT SCHOOL AND AT HOME. MR. HEAET- 

FUL. A ride; a courtship; and a failure. 

Agnes, for the four years that she was under Mrs. 
Densmore’s tuition, had been a hard student. She had 
now arrived at that period of life, when she could fully 
appreciate Mr. Lovegood’s kindness to her ; and the 
desire to manifest her gratitude to him, apart from a 
sense of her own deficiencies, and need of education, had 
acted as a powerful stimulus. Poverty and dependence, 
too, often are powerful stimulants to the young. Hence, 
while the children of the wealthy, under the most pro- 
pitious circumstances, often fritter away their time at 
school or college, and return home and enter the world, 
with little else than an empty diploma, and dollars and 
cents, — with empty heads, frivolous manners, and 
warped or corrupt principles, — the children of the poor 
depend entirely upon their education, appreciate their 
privileges, make the most of their time, and come out 
qualified with heart and head learning, prepared to take 
a high stand in whatever position Providence may al- 
lot to them. 

The free use of a large amount of spending money is 
too often seriously detrimental to the progress of the 
children of the wealthy, who are -indulged in this way. 
Ho boy nor girl will make due progress, with a pocket 
full of money. It will be found ever to be in the way 


366 THE BLEMMEKTONS; OE, 

of books, studies, mental exercises, and indeed of good 
manners ; making a child haughty, extravagantly fond 
of dress and independence; filling the heart with 
“ Young America,” and moulding the character by a re- 
gard to the potent dollar, rather than by mental and heart 
culture. Dollars and cents burn the fingers of a child. 
It should, therefore, be permitted to burn itself as 
little as possible ; and of the spending of every penny 
granted, the parent or guardian should require a strict 
account. 

F ew moments found Agnes idle. Many weary nights, 
while her room-mates were wrapt in slumber, was she 
found, till a late hour, poring over her books, before the 
dimly bmming lamp. And the result was now mani- 
fest. In four years, she had become a scholar of no or- 
dinary attainments. She read Latin and Greek with 
fluency ; also French and German ; was quite an adept 
in painting and drawing ; played well on the harp and 
piano, and sang sweetly. Nor had she neglected those 
accomplishments which had domestic life more express- 
ly in view. Mrs. Densmore had afforded her every 
opportunity of improvement in housekeeping; and 
when she became an inmate of the Rectory, the elder 
ladies soon discovered, that she understood the routine 
of domestic pursuits and duties, from the cutting out 
and making of a garment, to the .baking of a pound- 
cake. And she was so good, withal, so amiable, so gen- 
tle, that she won all hearts. Highly accomplished, 
and of attractive, dignified, yet simple manners, a de- 
vout Churchwoman, ever ready for all good works, 
wherever she went she seemed to move in a charmed 
circle, the admired of all admirers. All forgot the poor. 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 367 

sorrow-stricken orphan girl, in the full-grown, majestic 
Christian woman, of cultivated mind, and transcendent 
personal charms. 

Mr. Lovegood, who loved her as a fond father loves 
his only daughter, often pressed her to his heart, and 
thanked her for having given him so much satisfaction. 
“ The best act,” he said, “ that ever I performed in my 
life.” The old silver cup was placed away as a sacred 
reminiscence ; and every anniversary of Mrs. Wallace’s 
death, it was produced, that the past might be revived 
in his memory. 

Agnes is becoming so universal a favorite, that fears 
are entertained at the Rectory, lest the charm of her 
society may soon be lost there. 

Of all the gentlemen who visited the Rectory, Mr. 
Heartful always seemed the most deferential towards 
Miss Wallace. There was an unwonted reserve on his 
part, that always made Agnes melancholy, and served 
to carry her back to that eventful night, when she met 
him under the dimly burning lamp. He was then a 
young man, and she a little girl. All the past would 
gush up into her heart, — the sad death of her father and 
mother, the conduct of the Blemmertons, and her own 
altered condition in life. And O ! how she wished for 
one moment, one happy moment, just to thank him, to 
manifest her gratitude. With these thoughts she would 
seek her chamber and commune in silence with her 
God. 

A long time had passed, without the occurrence of 
any thing worth relating. Mr. Heartful had been a 
constant visitor at the Rectory; but few words had 
passed between him and Agnes, except on common- 


368 THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 

place topics. One day, lie called and sent in his card, 
with the request that Miss Wallace would take a ride 
with him in the country, to enjoy the pleasant afternoon, 
and the beautiful scenery. 

They proceeded a mile or so, making an occasional 
remark on the grandeur of the hills, and the noble riv- 
er which swept on before them, or the passage of a 
beautiful bird as it flew by them in the air. But Mr. 
Heartful was more than usually silent; and Agnes, 
dwelling on the past, could not overcome a feeling of 
melancholy. So they passed along, each, for the most 
part, wrapped in thought and emotion. At last Mr. 
Heartful remarked, “ Miss Wallace,— no, Agnes, I will 
call you, if you will permit me.” “Yes, Agnes, if you 
please, Mi\ Heartful,” said she, scarcely concealing the 
tear-drop that filled her eyes, as she turned away her 
head ; for he had not called her Agnes, since the day 
he took leave of her, when she was about to go to Mrs. 
Densmore’s. 

“ Agnes, I little thought, on that memorable night, 
that I should ever enjoy the pleasure of seeing you what 
you are. But, God’s ways are not as our ways. Would 
that I could tell you all that thrills my heart, when 
memory reverts to that night. Ah, we have both 
passed through sorrows and vicissitudes since then ! But, 
there are memories clustering around that old lamp- 
post, and that dilapidated old house, that I would not 
part with for all the world ! Forgive me for touching 
upon so tender a theme. My heart is full, very full, 
and I cannot avoid it.” 

“ Speak on, Mr. Heartful,” said she, looking upon him 
with her full lustrous eyes, for she had no conception of 


DOT TINGS BY THE IV AY SIDE. 


3G9 


the point to which his conversation would lead. ‘‘ I re- 
joice to meditate on that past. It is my frequent em- 
ployment. It brings to me many, ah, how many, remi- 
niscences of sorrow ; but, not one of shame nor false 
delicacy. My condition in life is indeed changed ; but 
I have not forgotten the past of my history, nor do my 
feelings foster a false and unworthy pride, when I con- 
trast the past with the present, especially in the pres- 
ence of my benefactor.” 

“ Ah, that word ! that fatal word ! Please recall it,” 
said he, manifesting more emotion than she had ever 
before observed in him. ‘‘ I would not have that 
word or thought come between me and the gleam of 
happiness which I have of late hoped, perhaps too fond- 
ly hoped, would flash across my pathway. I have kept 
that past ever before me, as a bright spot in my check- 
ered life. I have watched the little Agnes, as she came 
up to womanhood ; have nursed in my heart the fond 
hope of seeing her what she is, and what I was sure she 
would be. And now, — well, — ah, well, I want words 
to say all. But I have nursed the hope, that a greater 
blessing is in store for me, than the mere pleasurable 
memory of tlie past. Do not deem me selfish. That 
past would much more than reward me, for my poor 
performance of a bounden duty. Ah, believe me, I 
scorn to claim any other rew’ard, than my own conscious 
reflections. The thought would be unworthy in me ; nor 
could I dare to hope for your respect, in entertaining it. 
I know that your whole noble soul would revolt at it. 
No ; Agnes, understand me. I appreciate the delicacy 
of your position and my own. That word, ‘ benefactor,’ 
stands in the way as a barrier. But I ask you, can it 
16«> 


370 THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 

not be forgotten ? Can you not expunge it for a mo- 
ment from the memory of the past ; and hear me, as 
though it had never been 

Ah, Mr. Heartful, that I could have saved you and 
myself from this moment of pain !” 

“ And is it so, Agnes ? He whom you call father, is 
the only benefactor. He it was who trained my youth- 
ful heart, who instilled into it, by God’s blessing, every 
emotion of good. To him do I owe whatever of good 
my life has ever brought forth ; and it has been but lit- 
tle. I may say with Jacob of old, ‘ Few and evil have 
the days of the years of my life been.’ I owe him, un- 
der God, every thing; he is my spiritual father ; and if 
I am worthy of you, or of a kind thought from you, to 
him I owe it, — to him I am under greater obligations 
than you are, or ever can be. Me he rescued from the 
ways of darkness and death. And but for him, I should 
never have been fitted even to appear in your presence, 
or to exist on the earth. Therefore, let not that hard 
word interfere between me and the happiness so essential 
to me. May he not, Agnes, be our father, and give us his 
blessing ?” Mr. Heartful ceased, overcome with emotion. 

“Me, a portionless, unknown girl, without family, 
the humblest of the humble ! And would you trammel 
your bright fortunes, with a name so ignoble, a woman 
whose origin is so obscure ? No ; Mr. Heartful, you are 
too generous. I esteem you too highly for that. Let 
me retain my humble position ; and, if God so will, let 
me unite my hiunble fortunes with one whose name will 
not be tarnished by the union. It would be unjust in 
me, to entertain such a thought. Let me be permitted 
still to look up to you, as the noblest, the most gener- 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 371 

ous of friends ; one whom I may always cherish and 
admire ; in whose prosperity I may delight ; whose 
good name I may wreathe in unfading laurels, and wear 
near my heart. But, O never, never think of making 
me your wife !” She could say no more. 

“ And must this be so ? Must my cup be dashed ? 
Noble, generous Agnes ! If you could only see my in- 
most heart ! But I may not, — I dare not, — I will try 
and bow to your decision, and hope for the best. Only 
forgive me, for thus intruding upon the sanctity of your 
feelings, and take my blessing. May that good Being 
who has watched over you, still guide you on the way. 
And if this happiness be denied me, may you be blessed, 
ever blessed with the choicest blessings of heaven and 
earth ! And may I have strength and grace to bear my 
lot in life, whatever it may be, till the evening come !” 


872 


THE BLEMMEKTONS; OR, 


CHAPTER XXXIL 

JONATHAN HEABTFUL IN CONGRESS. AFFAIRS AT THE 
RECTORY, NOT Sp PLEASANT. TATTLING, JEALOUS-MIND- 
ED YOUNG LADIES. A LETTER FROM CONGRESS, ETC. 

Jonathan Heartful goes to Congress again. But 
this time he takes his seat in the Senate Chamber. It 
is an unusually important session, and a very exciting 
one in the political world. Mr. Heartful distinguished 
himself in several brilliant speeches, seemed to have 
acquired new powers of strength of mind and body. 
He was the champion of the Session ; and his name 
rang throughout the country, from North to South. 

The daily papers were watched at the Rectory of St. 
’s, with an interest that increased day by day. 

Jonathan again !” Mr. Lovegood would exclaim. “ He 
will fight them through ! He’s a perfect lion !” rub- 
bing his hands with delight. And Agnes would take 
up the paper, after he laid it aside ; and would steal 
away to her chamber, and con it over, line by line, 
again and again. Her full heart welled up with tears of 
joy and thanksgiving at his success. She knew not 
that she loved him, otherwise than as a very dear friend ; 
as a benefactor, to whom she owed so much.' She dared 
not trust herself with such a thought. She observed 
that, when hp called to take leave at the Rectory, pre- 
paratory to his departure for Washington, he was unu- 
sually sad. But now, in the light of his brilliant ca- 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 373 

reer, immersed jas lie was in national business and its 
excitements, she doubted not that every tinge of melan- 
choly bad passed away, and that, when be returned 
borne, sbe would find every trace of the past obliter- 
ated This was as she wished. And yet she hung upon 
his name and words, with an anxiety which betrayed 
much more than ordinary interest in him. 

Whenever a letter came to Mr. Lovegood, there was 
always a kind word for Agnes. She was not forgotten, 
amidst the most exciting contests. “ Give my love to 
Agnes and once he added, underscored, “ She knows 
how sincere I amP Mr. Lovegood did not observe the 
crimson flush which suffused her cheek, when he read 
the sentence. He entertained not the slightest suspicion 
of what had passed. 

Meantime, things had gone on as usual in the parish. 
Mrs. Lovegood had become an invalid ; and at the same 
time she gave proofs of an unamiable temper. Mr. 
Lovegood begins to fear, that he has made an unfortu- 
nate match. His bright day which promised so fair, 
begins to be clouded. His wife is at times peculiarly 
taciturn. The parishioners begin to notice it ; and the 
captious busy-bodies are but too happy, that their proph- 
ecies are fulfilling, while the good and consistent mem- 
bers of the congregation lament it, and sympathize with 
their beloved Hector. 

Even Agnes w^ears not her usual, happy, cheerful 
countenance. Tliere is a gloom hanging over the Rec- 
tory. Indeed, Mrs Lovegood is growing unkind to 
the once idolized Agnes ; but all this she keeps from 
Mr. Lovegood. She at times calls her “dependent,” 
and otherwise treats her rudely, saying that Mr. Love- 


374 THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 

good has enough to do to take care of his own family, 
without educating and supporting other people’s chil- 
dren. 

Poor Agnes, for the love she bears her “ good father,” 
resolves to endure it all, with a meek, submissive spirit. 

The Blemmertons, too, are very bitter against her ; 
and, though they have no intercourse with the family, 
they occasionally meet her in company, and are but too 
pointed in their efforts to mortify and wound her feel- 
ings, on all occasions. ‘‘There is that dependent!” 
Miss Deliah would remark, just loud enough for her to 
hear it. And then there would be a twitter among the 
young ladies, who were jealous of Agnes’s attainments, 
and the attentions paid to her in society. “Yes, how 
wonderfully smiling she looks!” rejoins Miss Jenny 
Highflyer. “That sash she thinks becoming; and it 
would be, if her own money bought it. I wonder she 
does not learn to do up her curls in a better style.” 

“ La, me ! if there isn’t Mr. Slapperdasher speaking 
with her. Well, wonders will never cease. Before I’d 
live as she does, I’d go ^nd learn a trade. Dependent 
on Mr. Lovegood, even for the clothes she wears. And 
he calling on the vestry for an increase of salary ! I 
don’t wonder at it, when Miss Agnes Wallace is to be 

dressed and maintained at the expense of St. ’s 

congregation,” says the young lady, who forgets that 
her grandmother kept a beer-shop, and her own father 
commenced the world with making and selling penny 
tallow-candles, which he carried about the streets, at 
retail, upon a pole. O, but this is a great world ; and 
what magnificent fools a little money makes of some 
people. 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 375 

“ It’s actually ridiculous !” says Miss Deliah. “ Fa- 
ther thinks, that Mr. Lovegood’s salary is already t» -o 
large. Indeed, he says clergymen ought to have no 
more than barely enough to live on ; they should be 
kept poor ; it keeps them humble, and in their place.” 

And, Miss Dele, many of them do not have that. 
The most of them would be satisfied with barely 
enough. But, lean bones and an humble spirit go to- 
gether. Yes, yes ; it is all right, we apprehend. And 
it may he, that many more entertain the same view, 
beside your father. Yes, yes; keep them poor; it 
makes them behave themselves. They attend only to 
our spiritual interests ; they "put no dollars in our pock- 
ets ; therefore they are of little account. Miss Dele has 
changed her mind wonderfully. Two hundred thou- 
sand could not, — well, — but let the young lady speak 
for hei’self. A pretty pass we are coming to, to have 
such things saddled on the parish. I wonder she does 
not go out, and learn to make bonnets, or dresses, and 
support herself. If she had any spirit she certainly 
would.” 

Agnes, on one occasion, was obliged to hear a great 
part of such a conversation. She would gladly have 
withdrawn from her position, and have avoided it ; but 
she could not. Being engaged in conversation herself 
near the parties, she could not have retired from that 
part of the room, without rudeness ; and these consider- 
ate young ladies had taken advantage of her situation, 
on purpose to let her hear a little of their mind 1 

The session of Congress was drawing to a close ; and 
Mr. Heartful’s return was now expected. One day. 


376 THE BLEMMEETONS; OE, 

Mr. Lovegood, on his return from the post-office, handed 
Agnes a letter. The superscription was in the hand- 
writing of Mr. Heartful. She took it, and retiring to 
her room, with a trembling hand and throbbing heart, 
she opened it, and read as follows : 

' “ Washington, , 18 — . 

“ Deae Agnes, 

“The time for me to return to is drawing 

near ; and I hope soon to have the pleasure of joining 

the dear friends at the Kectorj. But my return to , 

at present, depends upon one circumstance. I cannot 
bear to meet you now, under the circumstances of our 
parting. Once more I entreat you to revoke your de- 
termination, and permit me to return home and meet 
you in happiness. Will you not, Agnes? You know 
me too well, to require that I should use many words. 
All depends upon your decision. Should you hold out 
against my ardent devotion, I shall sail for Europe as 
soon as Congress adjourns, in the hope that, while away, 
you may make another happy. 

“ Good-by ; God bless you. J. H.” 

There, alone in her chamber, did that stricken girl 
bow now in humble supplication to Heaven. Here 
was a new trial across her pathway. Taunted at home 
and abroad with her poverty and obscurity, her heart 
revolted at the thought of blending the fortunes of one 
like Mr. Heartful with her own. And this, not because 
she attached any importance to such factitious matters 
as fortune or name ; but she had his prosperity at heart, 
and she feared that she would only trammel him in his 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


3-77 


career. She was mistaken, it may be ; but, still pos- 
sessed of an humble spirit and sensitive heart, she could 
bring herself to no other conclusion. If there was a 
struggle between the promptings of her heart and what 
she believed to be her duty, it was but for a moment. 
Tlie next mail bore the answer. 

‘‘ ,- 18 -. 

“ This, rest assured, Mr. Heartful, is the most pain- 
ful hour of my existence, since I have come to years of 
discretion. You truly said, that we had known sor- 
rows ; but, when I was a little girl, they came and 
went, .like the passing storm-cloud. How, they cut 
their traces deep in the heart. 

“ But ah, it cannot be. Duty to you forbids ; self- 
respect, respect for you forbids. It grieves me to inflict 
pain ; but, if it afford you any consolation, be assured, 
that it is more than shared by her who pens these 
lines. 

“ Troubles at home, too, admonish me, that I must 
leave the roof of him whom I call father ; and a kind 
father he has been. And when you return home, Agnes 
Wallace will be in her true sphere. I leave, in a few 
days, to enter Mrs. Gilcrist’s millinery establishment. 

“ May you be happy. 

“Agnes.” 

Mr. Lovegood had passed through many trials. 
How, for the first time in his life, did a real sorrow fall 
upon his heart. AU else had been but as the slight 
zephyr playing through the forest, shaking the boughs, 
and rustling the leaves. This was the terrible tornado, 


378 THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 

sweeping on in its might, tearing up the giant oaks, and 
leaving a week in its pathway. When Agnes inform- 
ed him of her determination to leave him, and go to 
Mrs. Gilcrist’s, to learn her trade, the strong man 
quaked and trembled ; and, for almost the first time in 
her presence, he wept like a child. His heart almost 
died within him. “ And, my Agnes, will you leave me 
thus ?” he exclaimed, overpowered with his emotions. 
“ My daughter, my daughter, whom I have twined 
about my heart, will she tear herself from me thus ? Oh, 
that I had been spared this hour !” 

Mrs. Lovegood, overhearing the conversation, came 
into the room, and upbraided him with his childish- 
ness. “ It was the best thing the girl could do. She 
was entirely right ; and she commended her indepen- 
dence of spirit. Every body was talking about it; the 
parishioners were complaining. Even Agnes herself 
had heard some of their remarks. And she was satis- 
fied, that no woman of spirit would remain in such a 
position, and hear her name bandied about by every 
idle gossiper. And if Agnes would take her advice, 
she would go out at once, and not be dependent on any 
one. It would certainly be no disgrace to her, but 
much to her credit.” 

Poor Mr. Lovegood heard all this, with a heavy 
heart ; it was new to him. The cause of Agnes’s deter- 
mination was but too apparent ; nor did he see how it 
could be remedied. He knew that she was devotedly 
beloved by every member of the congregation whose 
regard or opinion he deemed worthy of consideration. 
As to the few gossiping, fault-finding intermeddlers, he 
deemed what they would say, unworthy of a passing 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


379 


thought. But he could appreciate Agnes’s feelings, and 
respect her motives ; and he bowed in resignation to her 
fixed purpose. Indeed, after a day’s reflection, he 
schooled his heart into acquiescence, deeming the 
course that Agnes had marked out for herself, not only 
proper, but commendable. 


380 


THE BLEMMEKTONS; OK, 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

AGNES IN HER NEW SPHERE. PARTINGS. MR. LOVE- 

good’s opinion of her course. 

Agnes Wallace has entered upon her duties with 
Mrs. Gilcrist. The days of happiness which she had 
promised herself, under the protection of him to whom 
she looked as a father, had been clouded soon, ah, too 
soon. But, such is the course of earthly joys ; they 
never stay. Change, change, is written everywhere; 
grief rapidly succeeds to joy. Thanks to a benignant 
Providence, the lowering cloud is ever relieved, how- 
ever, by the brightening hues of the rainbow of 
promise, which softly gleam from the midst of its dark 
folds. The day will come, when there shall be no more 
sorrows, no more partings. And then, 0 how beautiful 
shall appear all God’s doings with us, when all myste- 
ries shall be solved, and the history of every sigh and 
every tear shall be written up. O, that we could see, 
how beautiful now are all the ways of that kind Provi- 
dence which guides our feet towards the promised land. 

I took my sweet little girl in my arms, yesterday, an 
innocent little prattler not yet three years old, and 
walked up and down the long portico of my pretty 
home. All around us bloomed beautiful roses, and 
crape-myrtle ; the leaves of the cotton- wood, orange, 
and weeping willow rustled in the breeze ; just before 
us, all over the garden, luscious, golden peaches hung 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 381 

temptingly from the boughs, which bent with their 
weight ; and the yellow figs, peeping as it were from 
the midst of the deep green foliage in which they clus- 
tered, “ invited the longing taste.” “ See, daughter,” 
said I, “ the beautiful peaches.” “ Pretty ! pretty !” 
exclaimed she, clapping her little hands. “ See there, 
daughter, what beautiful fiowers !” “ Pretty ! pretty !” 

shouting in her gladness of heart. Just then, an insect 
struck up his note, “ Chat, — chat, — chat, — chatter, 
chatter, sha, sha, sha ;” and a beautiful butterfly winged 
past us, and lit on a cluster of ripe peaches. “ O 
daughter, hear the sweet katydid ! see the pretty but- 
terfly !” “ O pretty, pretty, pretty !” almost bounding 

from my arms, and exulting in her joy, her bright hazel 
eyes flashing with delight. 

Beautiful type of the innocent heart ! The little child 
sees beauty in every thing. Yea, beauty is everywhere, 
as God is. Beauty is all around us. Every thing is 
pretty, pretty, O how pretty ! God hath written beauty 
on all His works. Every thing is instinct with lessons 
on the beauty of His perfections. There is beauty in 
the evening cloud, tinged with the last rays of the set- 
ting sun, as they linger behind, loth to leave the world 
in darkness. There is beauty in the little stars, as one 
by one they dance out in the heavens, glad to do their 
Maker’s will. There is beauty in the spring-time, when 
Nature travails in her birth of plenty, and the buds 
and the blossoms come forth, to cheer the heart and 
enrobe the earth in gladness. There is beauty in the 
waving fields and summer harvests, when spring’s fair 
promise ripens into abundance, and crowns man’s toils 
with the blessings of the earth. There is beauty in the 


382 THE BLEMMEETONS; OE, 

autumn sky, with its hoar frosts, and sombre shadows, 
when Nature doffs her vernal robes, and commits them 
to the tomb. There is beauty, too, in the hoarse voice 
and icy grasp of winter, when the birds seek the forests, 
and the flowers are locked in the earth, and Nature is 
clad in mourning. 

All these beauties proclaim their lesson to man’s 
heart. They are teachers, seeking admission to his so- 
ciety, in his hours of quiet and meditation, and lifting 
his soul to the contemplation of things eternal. The 
golden cloud bids us know, that, though the sun be lost 
to sight, he shines as brightly in other climes, and will 
come again, to gladden us with his genial beams ; even 
as the Lord of Hosts, in our darkest hours of trial, 
gives evidence of His sustaining presence ; for, when- 
soever He hides His face behind some dark cloud of 
adversity, if we have but faith, we are sure to behold 
His benign likeness in it, and the tokens of His return- 
ing love. And the little stars bespeak the wonder and 
order of His providence, and the thousand modes and 
messengers to convey to us His blessings. 

Spring, with its blossoming beauties ; Summer, wflth 
its horn of plenty ; Autumn, with its ingathering ; and 
Winter, with its sober gait and icy touch ; all these 
proclaim the richness and fulness of the divine grace, 
CO- working with God’s children through the various pe- 
riods of their existence here. In the spring-time of life, 
it gives them the oil of joy and gladness, and the beauty 
of holiness, to train their young hearts for heaven, and 
flowers of virtue to bloom forever in that land of 
Beauty, where they never wither, never die. In life’s 
meridian, they have the clustering and ripening fruits 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


383 


of a well-trained life, with the promise of a full harvest 
of blessedness when life’s race is ended ; in life’s de- 
cline, the comforts of a holy repose, and confidence in 
the steadfast faith of durable treasure in heaven ; and 
in the dark hour and winter of death, the cheering 
hope of immortal glory, an eternal spring-time, when 
these seeds of corruption, these bodies of mortality, 
shall spring up immortal and incorrupt, and enjoy un- 
ending youth in the kingdom of God. 

Yea, beauty is everywhere ; but man’s eyes are 
holden, man’s heart is dumb. He does not see like 
the innocent little child. He has no time. He must 
on. He sees naught, but the changeable and the utili- 
tarian. Here, to-day ; gone, to-morrow. He cannot 
pause for meditation. The world will not stop for him. 
He dares not loiter ; he sets »his heart on the change- 
able, not on the unchangeable ; therefore, to him, all 
things are not bright and beautiful. Teach us, O teach 
us, dear little children, to value the beautiful, to behold 
the Lord’s footprint everywhere, in our journey through 
life, and to follow it to the land of the beautiful, where 
our eyes shall be fully opened, and we shall see all 
things pretty, pretty, yea, how pretty ! 

The old Rectory no longer resounded with the cheer- 
ful song of Agnes ; nor was her voice longer heard in 
the solemn morning and evening response. Her ac- 
customed place was vacant at the table ; the young 
persons who used to assemble, at the pleasant evening 
hour, at the Rectory, no longer gladdened the genial 
Rector’s heart. But, every morning and evening, there 
ascended to heaven a prayer for the absent one. 

Agnes came occasionally, and spent an evening with 


384 : THE BLEMMEETONS; OE, 

lier father; but it was too painfully evident, that a 
change had come over every thing at the Rectory. She 
always met the same cordial embrace and thrilling 
“ God bless you, my daughter but, sorrow had writ- 
ten its lines, deeply, ujDon the brow of her “ good 
father.” Change was visible there; the cloud had 
gathered ; the storm-ldng reigned. 

Mr. Heartful had gone to Europe, to be absent sev- 
eral years. Over this, too, there was an impenetrable 
mystery, which hung heavily upon Mr. Lovegood’s 
heart. He spoke of it to Agnes, as he read to her 
some passages from a letter which he had just received 
from Mr. Heartful. “ I cannot see you now, for some 
years, my dear pastor and guardian of my youth. I 
could not now greet the dear ones at the Rectory ! 
There is a pall upon my spirits, which, for two years 
or more, must deprive me of that pleasure. Good- 
by. Give my love to Agnes ; protect and defend 
her in her trials, and the Lord’s blessing will be upon 
you.” 

“What does that mean, my Agnes?” said he. 
“ There is a mysterious meaning in these words, which 
I cannot solve. There is a secret sorrow hidden under 
them, that I fain would understand !” “ From you who 

have been more than a father to me, I dare not with- 
hold any thing that can contribute to allay your anxie- 
ties,” said she, sobbing aloud. “ I will tell you all !” 
And then, to the sympathizing mind of a father, she 
disclosed the secret of her heart, relating all that had 
passed between herself and Mr. Heartful. Into the 
sorrows of that moment let us not irreverently gaze. 
“The heart knoweth its own bitterness.” Sighs and 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


385 


tears tell us whereof we are made. They are good for 
us, when they draw us heavenward. 

And let none suppose, that sorrows such as these have 
about them nothing of a sanctified impress or charac- 
ter. They may not have, it is true ; but we should be 
loth so to tamper with human afiections, and the sor- 
rows springing out of them, as to consider them as 
belonging exclusively to the purely sentimental or 
romantic. Far from it. Why may not such sorrows be 
a portion of the cup which our Father gives us to drink, 
as well as othem ? All sorrow is the product of sin. 
Sin hath fiooded the world with tears ; and, from the 
weak infant wail, to the heavy cross which the mature 
Christian is called to bear, from the trial which wrings 
the heart of innocent childhood, to that which brings a 
tremor into the frame and languor upon the brow of 
age, we behold the complement and fulfilment of that 
probation through which we all are to pass. Anguish 
is written everywhere ; in sickness, in disappointments, 
in heart-blightings, in wants, in crosses, in partings. 

But the young heart is elastic. Yea, it is true. It 
breaks and weeps like the cloud of spring. Its sun 
comes out, and all again is fresh and bright. The cloud 
vanishes, and the youthful sky is calm and serene. 
Tea, youth is compensative. But for this, the youthful 
heart would break, and never be healed. And yet, 
sorrow never comes without leaving its mark. The 
reader may not be conscious of this ; but, could we tell 
his experience, we could point out, in the inner recesses 
of his being, the mark of some past sorrow which, 
though for the moment forgotten, is laid up in the 
recesses of memory. And that memory is a curious 
17 


386 THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 

palimpsest ; and, one by one, as age lays on its gray 
hairs, or turns over the leaves of that palimpsest, those 
marks will be revealed to them. Their youthful sor- 
rows and blightings will reveal themselves as in a 
mirror ; they will read them, look upon them ; they 
will live again in the past, and weep, and bless memory 
for its revelations ; and, perchance, they will hope for 
the day when the book of memory shall be fully opened, 
and they shall muse on all the past, and live in the sun- 
light of heaven’s eternal day. 

There are lines, even of sorrow, in every man’s 
life, buried in the past, on which he loves to meditate, 
and which draw him heavenward, if in them he sees 
the marks of his Lord, and they are weaning him from 
earth and fitting him for the world to come. 

Mr. Lovegood listened to the recital of Agnes’s sor- 
row, laughing and weeping. “ Noble Jonathan, noble 
Agnes !” he exclaimed, as she concluded. “ It’s like 
you both. He is all generosity ; his noble heart over- 
flows with every chivalrous, magnanimous sentiment. 
I know not, my dear daughter, how you have endured 
such a severe trial. You have my sympathies ; and I 
appreciate your sentiments. You are worthy of each 
other. And I am thankful, that you have been enabled 
thus fully to sustain yourself, in a position which you 
conscientiously believe to be right. 

“ But,” continued he, “ have you not been wrong, my 
daughter ? Does Christian virtue require you to sacri- 
fice your own and another’s happiness, on account of 
what you might suppose the world would say ? The 
world, I know, is prone to harshness and false judgment. 
But we are not to be governed by the wrong judgments 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 887 

or censures of the wicked. Public opinion is as apt, 
perhaps, to be wrong as right. It often sets up a false 
standard ; and if we suffer ourselves to be ruled by this, 
we shall be robbed, not only of much of our Christian 
boldness, but even of our just rights. Yet, after all, 
there is a great deal of right judgment in the world. 
The censorious and the evil-minded are not the sole 
judges in the world. The good, the pious, the gener- 
ous, and the just, also, have opinions, and they sustain 
worthy actions, and measure our deeds by the standard 
of justice. The world is not all one-sided and lynx- 
eyed. There is some goodness in it. Tliere are those 
whose smile of approbation is as the sunshine, and 
whose good opinion and just judgments are as the dews 
of evening upon the parched earth.” 

“ If,” replied she, “ I had no higher motive than 
that named, it would perhaps be erroneous. I would 
be willing to disregard the remarks of the censorious 
and evil-minded ; and I am sure Mr. Heartful would. 
We should be happy in each other, let others say what 
they might. But there are higher and more dutiful 
considerations. Mr. H. is above my sphere in life. I 
covet only an humble walk ; he has a brilliant career 
before him ; I should, I fear, only trammel him in his 
just aspirations. I esteem and respect him too highly, 
to stand in the way of either his usefulness or his aspira- 
tions. You know, that the envious, who know all my 
past sad history, would say, that he had married beneath 
himself ; and had united his fortunes with one whom he 
had been instrumental in rescuing from the most abject 
misery and poverty. And this, while it would not 
affect the happiness of either of us directly, would be 


388 


THE BLEMMEETONS ; OE, 


used against him at every step. How could I forgive 
myself for so rash an act ? I may he wrong ; but, when 
I calmly reflect on the subject, it appears that we had 
better endure a brief period of heart-grief, than tinge 
our whole life with sorrow. To you, my dear father, I 
will not hesitate to say, that the sacriflce has been 
great ; but we share it together, and grace will be 
vouchsafed to us, to bear it, as become th Christians.” 

Mr. Lovegood, though not assenting to all her con- 
clusions, could find it in his heart to say no more. “ God 
bless you, my daughter ! You are a dear good girl ; 
and I hope and believe, there is a brighter day before 
you. You are called to trials in youth, that your age 
may, I trust, be blessed the more abundantly. The 
dark days will assuredly roll away, and bright ones 
come at last. Trust in the Lord and be strong. One 
so pure, so innocent, so unselfish as my own good Ag- 
nes, is not allowed to pass through the furnace, without 
some wise and holy pui'pose. 

‘‘ Bless God, then,” continued he, “ and go on the 
way rejoicing. Let whatever may betide you, you 
know in whom you have a friend, who will never desert 
3^ou, while he lives ; and, above and better than all, 
you know the goodness and mercy of the Friend of 
friends, without whose friendship all others were of lit- 
tle worth.” 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


389 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

AGNES IN HER NEW EMPLOYMENT. A HINT TO SHOP-KEEP- 
ERS, AND GENTLEMEN AND LADIES OF THE YARD-STICK, 

IN GENERAL. A DENOUEMENT AT THE RECTORY, ETC. 

Was Agnes, the milliner-girl, deserted by her hosts 
of admirei-s ? Nay ; not by all. Mr. Slapperdasher, 
and a few others of the cane and kid order, cut her ac- 
quaintance ; so also did the Misses Highflyer, Beaudash- 
er, and the like. The Blemmertons, of course, deemed 
her altogether beneath their notice ; before, she had 
been the “ dependent,” a spiritless dependent, living on 
the charities of the parish ; now, she was a common 
milliner, altogether unworthy of a passing consideration. 

But gentlemen and ladies who were more worthy of 
these titles, sought her society as usual, and cheered her 
on in her honorable course. She was a superior wom- 
an, and made her mark wherever she went. Persons 
of intelligence, refinement, and true discrimination, 
gladly extended to her the courtesies to which her at- 
tainments, manners, Christian graces, and accomplish- 
ments entitled her. 

The time had not arrived, in the coteries of , 

when the ‘‘ almighty dollar” was the sole conducteur 
to the avenues of good society ; when the “ Milliner- 
girl” would be frowned back to her close room and her 
needle. Labor, the lot of man, was no disgrace, except 
in the eyes of such as the Blemmertons, who had spruug 
from nothing, and merely floated along, upborne upon 


390 THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 

the tide of worldly wealth, more respected in their own 
eyes than in the eyes of others. She who was fitted 
for the society of the refined, the liberal-minded, chiv- 
alrous, and enlightened, was freely admitted to it, 
whether she bore the ungrateful cognomen of the “ Mil- 
liner-girl,” as the Blemmertons always characterized 
Agnes, or drove her splendid carriage, or trod the 
downy-carpeted parlor, or flashed her diamonds before 
the costly mirror. 

Agnes, from motives of delicacy and humility, and 
from finding it more congenial to her sentiments and 
feelings, went but little into company, much to the re- 
gret of many of her real friends, who found in her so- 
ciety a refining, elevating, and chastening influence. 
She was a true woman ; and she determined to fill her 
sphere in life. Her highest delight Was to discharge 
her duties to Mrs. Gilcrist, and be found always in her 
place in the sanctuary at the hour of prayer. 

In a few months, sh had made herself so useful in 
the business of her employer, as to be promoted from 
the needle to the post of chief sales-woman ; and every 
day found her behind the counter, waiting upon the 
flocks of ladies who patronized the house. And Agnes 
was so refined and ladylike, so free from all ‘‘ the tricks 
of trade,” so fair and honorable in all her dealings, that 
Mrs. Gilcrist’s custom trebled itself in a few months. 

The usual chaflering and Jewing in the establish- 
ment ceased, except when such as the Blemmertons 
called, who merely intended to exult over Agnes, glory 
in their pride and ostentation, prate about their conse- 
quence, and abuse, all petty tradesmen and tradeswomen. 
“ La, what a price ! Tlie girl has no conscience” (not 


DOT TINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 391 

knowing her of course ;) “ all milliner-girls are I believe 
trained at their business, which is to get the most they 
can. They will cheat if they get a chance ; they re- 
quire to be closely watched.” But all ladies of real 
refinement shrunk from all chafiering with the charm- 
ing Miss Wallace ; for there was no necessity of close 
dealing with her. She dealt as a Christian should 
deal ; and inspired confidence in all right-minded cus- 
tomers. 

Many ladies, as they retired from the store, were 
heard to remark, ‘‘ Keally, it does one’s heart good, to 
deal with Miss Wallace in these crooked times; so 
much of a lady, so frank, so free from guile ; if there’s 
even a straw out of place, or a speck on a ribbon, it’s 
sure to be pointed out.” And, indeed, we must say, to 
the credit of all ladies in general, that, notwithstanding 
the many sore thrusts and hard hits they so often re- 
ceive about their chaffering, trouble-making. Jewing, 
and beating down, if dealers would be a little more 
generous and just, would not proceed upon the principle 
that all persons who enter their places of business in- 
tend, if they can, to take advantage of them, and would 
not “ mark up” on their goods for the sake of leaving 
room to “ fall,” there would be less of it. 

But, as it is, a lady can hardly be a good economical 
shopper, and have justice measured out to her, as 
well as muslins, without acquiring the “Jewing” art. 
Clerks and salesmen, gentlemen and ladies of the yard- 
stick, be wise ; quit the naughty practice. Place upon 
your goods an honest, living profit, and have done with 
the dishonest, dishonorable trickery of “marking” up, 
and then “ selling your goods below cost.” For my 


392 


THE BLEMMEKTONS; OR, 


part, 1 never deal with a man who always sells below cost, 
who gives out the stereotyped expression, “ It cost me 
more than the money.” L think he either intends to 
cheat me, or accounts me a fool or a knave. I know 
that he cannot live by such a trade, unless his goods 
are stolen, and I leave it to some one else, to impose 
upon his charity, or good nature. 

Time rolls on, bringing its changes and vicissitudes. 
Mrs. Goodenough has paid the debt of nature, and 
gone to join her sainted partner in Paradise. Mr. ]^o- 
chui’ch has been confirmed ; and is now regularly found 
at the altar, whenever the Holy Sacrament is adminis- 
tered. He has become a truly pious, devoted, and ac- 
tive man in the Church, a second Mr. Friendly, co- 
operating with the Hector, in every good word and 
work. 

Miss Sally Fastidious has married Mi\ Ben Slocum’s 
opponent, “the red-headed fellow, Ben Jenkins.” 
And Mr. Slocum himself is the same grinning, trifiing, 
wishy-washy Presbyterian that he was when we last 
saw him. 

Mrs. Hochurch, Mrs. Fussy, Mrs. Fastidious, and 
Dr. Biproarer, still court each other as of old, while 
the ladies sound his trumpet far and near. Dr. Rip- 
roarer is a very great man ; so “ they” say, and that is 
enough. Mr. Lovegood, of course, and his troubles at 
home, are happy subjects of comment, and afibrd the 
ladies many delightful moments of recreation. Mr. 
Slopill and Miss Dele keep on terms 5 they never appear 
at chiu’ch ; nor does Mr. Slopill know any thing of the 
visit to the Rectory, the rapid coming and going of the 
crimson in the cheek, and the great disappointment 


D0TTING8 BY THE WAYSIDE. 


393 


felt on that occasion. These are all profound secrets. 
Mr. Lovegood is a very had man ; tried hard to sup- 
plant Mr. Slopill, but could not succeed. Miss Dele, 
with the two hundred thousand, was not to be won 
from his grasp so easily. Mr. Slopill, of course, brushed 
his w^hiskers, and looked in the glass. Whew ! he is a 
man of consequence, much too hard for the Rector. If 
there is saw-dust about his eyes, he cannot see it. And 
the gossiping deserters, being for the most part “ cut” 
by the true friends of the Church, their croaking raises 
but light storms. 

The elder Blemmertons still remain in statu quo. 
Mr. Heartful has gone to Europe, and, when he returns, 
will most likely make good the old prophecy. He and 
Mr. Lovegood are devoted friends ; it is therefore best 
not to act hastily. Prudence is a wonderful guide, and 
often accomplishes great things. 

Agnes being out of the way, and affairs having settled 
down, Ml'S. Blemmerton and Miss Dele determined to 
call again at the Rectory. If they gain nothing by it 
in one way, they may in another ; they may pick up 
something to talk about, touching the freaks of the 
Rector’s lady ; and that will afibrd some satisfaction. 
But this visit was never repeated ; they heard some- 
thing not very congenial to delicate, sensitive nerves. 
Mrs. Lovegood had here and there picked up a thread 
of the old stories, which she had woven into a net- 
work, and being that morning in one of her cross 
moods, she spread it over the Blemmertons so thick and 
fast, that they came near losing their eye-sight, and 
suffocating under the operation. At last, rising in a 
pitch of indignation, she darted into an adjoining room, 

17 » 


394 THE BLEMMEKTONS; OR, 

and brought forth, holding it aloft in her hand, and 
swaying it to and fro as a grand trophy, the veritable 
sermon-holder. 

“ There,” said she, pitching it at the same time into 
Miss Dele’s lap, there is the sermon-holder that court- 
ed Mr. Lovegood, that you made. Miss Dele, with your 
purse. Take it !” O ye tempestuous elements, blow 
your blasts ! Your bowlings, your mighty roarings are 
not heard. An earthquake would not have been so 
terrific. Mrs. Blemmerton groaned and gnashed her 
teeth. The ladies left the house in a rush and a storm, 
choking with rage. “ Insulted, grossly insulted, in the 
house of the Rector !” Close the scene. 

Here was an affair ! What was now to be done ? 
What, but permit the choler to boil down. There is no 
other cure in such a case. Like a fever, it must take 
its course ; all that can be done is to mollify and apply 
palliatives. With all tlieir failings, the Blemmertons 
had the vanity to keep the main point of the insult to 
themselves. It cut too deeply and severely ; in exposing 
the wound, they could only have exposed themselves. 
The fact that they had been grossly insulted by Mrs. 
Lovegood, was liberally and bountifully retailed, but 
the real grounds thereof, no ingenuity could ever draw 
from them. 

It is not agreeable to record such incidents in the 
character of a clergyman’s wife. It is to be presumed, 
however, that most persons expect to find in them flesh 
and blood; though it must be owned, that a great 
'many expect more from the wives of the clergy than 
of any other men. They are expected to visit more, 
be more at home, live on less, be more charitable, talk 


DOT TINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 395 

less and know less, yet do more, than any other ladies. 
They are more scandalized, envied, talked about, than 
it is profitable to relate. If Mrs. Rector gets a new 
bonnet, every body is agog to see it come to church ; 
and then it is too gay, or too dashy, or too expensive ; 
it is extravagant, or it has too many fiowers, — fiowers, 
the beautiful things, — the prettiest things in the world, — 
fiowers, made by the hand divine to make glad our 
hearts, and create music in the world, O ye are sinful 
things in the bonnet of a Mrs. Rector ! Well, its bad 
enough, without our writing about it. Still, we must 
write our experiences. We ask not the reader’s belief. 
Say it’s all made up ; we are satisfied. But we know 
what we know. 

Mrs. Lovegood was, in many respects, a most excel- 
lent woman; but she had one besetting infirmity, — 
cross turns, contrary fits, spasmodic turns of crooked- 
ness, which seemed to come and go like the whimsies 
of a petted child. When the fit was off, she was all 
that was excellent, a gem of a wife, who was ready for 
any thing good ; to lend her mantilla for a pattern, or 
to visit the sick, or to move among the parishioners, all 
charms and graces ; but when it was on, she was a 
“ Tartar she snapped, and snarled at every thing and 
every body. These crooked spells generally lasted 
about an hour; but while they were on, Mr. Lovegood 
was always minus the drawing-room and study. It was 
too warm for him about the house. 

These peculiarities, when fully developed, were soon 
known ; and though veiy painful to Mr. Lovegood and 
the parishioners, they resolved to bear them, in the 
spirit of good Christians, with the best possible grace. 


396 THE BLEMMEKTONS; OR, 

Mrs. LoYegood was, herself, painfully conscious of her 
peculiar failing, and strove against it, at times, with he- 
roic fortitude. After her severe cut on the Blemmer- 
tons, she learned to deny herself to visitors when she 
was in one of her unpleasant moods, which doubtless 
saved her from many serious evils. 

She was a confirmed dyspeptic : change of living and 
of climate had preyed upon her health, until she was, 
at times, perfectly wretched ; and then she could not 
avoid making othei’s about her unhappy. Doubtless, 
Christian charity would have said, that the poor lady 
was more to be pitied than censured. At all events, we 
feel inclined to draw the veil over many of her failings, 
especially as she labored prayerfully to conquer them. 
But we must not forbear recording one or two of her 
most remarkable acts. 

ITumbers of the parishioners felt very kindly toward 
Mr. Lovegood, and often remembered him, with small 
presents and tokens of regard. Mr. Friendly was par- 
ticularly thoughtful in this way. If he met with any 
thing in market, that he thought would please the 
Hector, he was sure to purchase a double quantity, one 
half of which would find its way to the Rectory, always 
borne to the door in his own hand. One morning, at 
an early hour, he rang the bell, and handed to the ser- 
vant a very fine goose. Imagine his sui-prise, as he 
turned the corner, and passed on by the kitchen, at 
' seeing a window raised and the whole goose hurled out 
at his head, barely missing the mark, and rolling along 
before him on the pavement. 

Acts of this kind Mrs. L. would frequently perpe- 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


897 


trate, and then, in ten minutes, be found in her cham- 
ber, bathed in tears of shame. So strange a 
dyspepsia. 

On one occasion, Mr. Lovegood was quite sick. He 
had a high fever, and the physician had requested him 
not to see much company ; to admit into his room a few 
only of his friends, and but one at a time. This alarmed 
Mrs. L., very much. She deemed the case a very crit- 
ical one, and watched her husband with great anxiety. 
Early one morning, Mr. Friendly, on his way to busi- 
ness, called ; and, as was his custom, walked directly to 
the door of the sick room, and, gently tapping, softly 
opened it, and was entering the room, when, suddenly, 
he felt a decided negative pressure ; and, before he 
knew what it was, he found himself tightly jammed be- 
tween the sharp edge of the door and the door-facing, 
and clamped as tightly as a wedge. “ You can’t come 
in. Sir!” said a voice from the negative force, which 
negative force grew tighter and tighter, till the poor old 
gentleman, who was already pretty thin, was nearly 
flattened to the thinness of a board. He declared, af- 
terward, that he had, for weeks, a red and blue stripe, 
up and down, behind and before, where he had been 
conflned in the stocks. 

Two years rolled round, bringing to Mrs. Lovegood 
restored health ; and, as her health improved, she over- 
came these unpleasant traits, and lived to see the day, 
when she was as much beloved and respected, by all the 
parishioners, as, before that, she had been dreaded. In 
later life, she was often heard fo lament her earlier fail- 
ings ; and frequently would she join in the merry laugh, 


398 


THE BLEMMEKTONS; OR, 


at her own expense, with some of the older parishion- 
ers, and recount her dyspeptic freaks with evident good 
humor. 

Mr. Friendly’s pressure she would tell him was in- 
deed a warm and tight one, but he knew how to aj)pre- 
ciate it as a token of her real regard for him. The par- 
son and the goose were more closely allied than the 
goose and his head. She was glad it did not strike him ; 
for, had it done so, his head would most likely have 
been “ demolished.” And so would they amuse them- 
selves with their jokes. The clouds had vanished, and 
the sky was clear and bright. 


DOTTINQS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


399 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

COMING EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEFORE THEM. A 
LETTER FROM MR. HEARTFUL. REVELATIONS. 

We are ahead of our story. Mr. Heartful has been 
absent for two years ; and, in all that time, Mr. Love- 
good has received but two letters from him, the latter 
towards the end of the first year of his absence. It 
breathed a spirit of melancholy, and was full of kind 
remembrances to all at the Bectory, and of love to 
“ dear Agnes,” underscored, and written in a trembling 
hand. 

One bright afternoon in September, towards the close 
of Mr. Heartful’s second year’s absence, Mr. Lovegood 
called at Mrs. Gilcrist’s, and taking Agnes aside, told 
her that he had something of importance to communi- 
cate to her, and wished her to come to the Rectory, in 
the evening, when she would be relieved from business. 
His manner was significant. His large, full eyes 
beamed with delight, and fiashed as when his whole 
soul was thrown into them. 

Agnes hastened to the Rectory, about eight o’clock. 
Mr. Lovegood was alone in his study. When she 
entered and was seated, he unlocked a drawer in his 
desk, and drew forth a letter which he handed to 
Agnes. It bore a foreign postmark. There was no 
mistaking the writer. Yes ; it was from Mr. Heartful. 
“Read it, my daughter; it concerns you!” said Mr. L., 


400 


THE BLEMMEETONS; OE, 


as he gave it to her, and immediately dropped into his 
seat, and, hnrjing his face in his hands, sobbed aloud. 
“ Joy to the true of heart!” he ejaculated. “ The God 
of the fatherless is mighty ! All praise be unto Him 
‘ who doeth all things well 1’ ” 

Agnes read as follows : 


Liyeepool, , 18 — . 

My Deae Pastoe : — You have doubtless been sur- 
prised at my long silence; but I can now solve all 
mysteries. From the first month of my sojourn in 
England, I have been engaged in unravelling a curious 
and difilcult afiair. By the merest accident, I learned 
that a gentleman of your name had died recently, leav- 
ing a large fortune without heirs in England. 

My curiosity being excited, I inquired into the 
matter. The gentleman’s name was Kobert Lovegood. 
But either from a desire to embezzle the property, or to 
bafile the curiosity of a stranger, the ofllcials threw 
every imaginable obstacle in my way. At last, how- 
ever, I succeeded in ferreting out the facts in the case ; 
and you may imagine my surprise, when I discovered, 
that the deceased was either a brother or cousin of 
yours. 

And what is better than all, and by what unaccount- 
able train of circumstances it was brought about I 
know not, — but our dear Agnes is, by his will, the 
inheritor of his whole fortune. I give you the very 
words of the will, and you may judge for yourself. 
“ After paying all my just and equitable debts, I give 
and bequeath all my estate, whether pereonal, real, 
or mixed, a statement of which I have filed with my 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


401 


friend A. B., unto the heir or heirs of my cousin, Mary 
Wallace, late of England, but now residing in the 
United States ; and I require and charge my executors, 
as aforesaid, etc.” 

Agnes read no more. ‘She stood mute, and as if 
transfixed to the floor. And was the poor orphan, de- 
pendent, milliner-girl, an heiress ? And what were her 
emotions? At the end of the letter there was this 
postscript : ‘‘ I can come home now. When this busi- 
ness is all arranged, I shall take my departure, and 
greet you all again, I trust, in three months.” 


Shortly after the death of Mrs. Wallace, Mr. Love- 
good had written to his brother, informing him of her 
sad history and death, and giving him an account of 
his intentions towards Agnes. To this letter he had not 
received a reply ; and he concluded, that his brother 
had long since died or removed elsewhere. 

After the failure of Robert Lovegood, and the sacri- 
fice made by Richard Grantner, and his sister Mary, to 
pay his liabilities, for which Richard was surety, the 
wheel of fortune turned in his favor, and Robert Love- 
good, in the course of a few years, found himself in a 
flourishing business. He wrote often to his cousins, but 
never received any intelligence of them. 

He rarely ever heard of his mother or brother. If 
they corresponded at all, it was at long intervals ; pov- 
erty and a life of changes and vicissitudes, on the one 
hand, and the absorbing cares of business, on the other, 
served to curtail their communications, until at length 
they ceased. 


402 THE BLEMMEKTONS; OR 

It had ever been the intention of Robert Lovegood, 
to repair the loss sustained by his cousins ; but, as we 
have shown, after he acquired the ability, he had, from 
the want of proper intelligence respecting them, been 
unable to fulfil his purpose. 

Years rolled round ; and he had amassed a large for- 
tune. He had married, but was childless ; and his 
wife had now been dead six or eight years. The letter 
of his brother had been duly received, and he was about 
to make arrangements to forward him a large draft, for 
the benefit of Agnes, when he was attacked with his 
last illness. But, upon the intelligence contained in his 
brother’s letter, he based his will. 

The executors had, for nearly six years, with that 
letter in their hands, which placed them in possession 
of every necessary item of intelligence, studiously 
avoided writing to Mr. Lovegood, to inform him of the 
death of his brother, and of the fortune bequeathed to 
Agnes. 

Agnes retained her situation at Mrs. Gilcrist’s, though 
her change of fortune was soon noised abroad. She 
and Mr. Lovegood were required to appear before a 
Court of Record ; and several influential citizens were 
required to testify to the fact of her being the identical 
heir of Mary Wallace. When this occurred, 'the sub- 
ject was no longer a secret. But Agnes continued to 
be the same modest, retiring, unassuming Christian 
that she had ever been, and was found every day 
behind the counter, as assiduous as ever in the duties of 
her employment. 

Those who had been her true friends, rejoiced in her 
good fortune. But they neither loved, nor caressed, nor 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


403 


admired her the more on this account. She could long 
since have returned to the Rectory, without any com- 
promise of her feelings ; for Mrs. Lovegood, having re- 
covered from her ill health, yearned to have her socie- 
ty again. But Agnes found so much delight in her oc- 
cupation, that she preferred to continue it. And now, 
that her fortunes had so wonderfully changed,' she re- 
mained at her post, from a sense of propriety. 

But what a marked change had been wrought in 
some other quarters ! The worehippers of Mammon 
now vied with each other, to see who could be most 
profuse in praises and attentions. The Blemmertons 
thought her a most charming girl, regretted that they 
had enjoyed so little of her society, and made many 
humble apologies that they had not paid her more at- 
tention. “ The truth was,” they said, “ their list of 
friends had so extended, that they scarcely knew how to 
reckon them. And if Miss Wallace had been over- 
looked, they hoped to he forgiven, as it was purely ac- 
cidental.” Card after card, and congratulation after 
congratulation, poured in upon Agnes. Mr. Slapper- 
dasher called in his carriage, for a ride ; and the Misses 
Highflyer and Beaudasher sent their compliments, on 
many occasions, requesting the pleasure of Miss Wal- 
lace’s company. 

Agnes had not one grain of resentment in her com- 
position. She knew how unreal and hollow-hearted all 
this lip-service was, but she did not give her thoughts to 
it. She took all things as they occurred, with a good and 
honest heart. At peace with herself and her God and 
Sa^dour, she was not elated at what the world called 
her good fortune ; hut she cherished the more the mem- 


404 THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 

ory of her father and mother, and sanctified the Lord 
God in her heart. 

Mr. Ben Slocum Sapientinm, doubtless at the sugges- 
tion of a wiser head than his own, became one of Miss 
Wallace’s most ardent admirers. And the same old de- 
vices were resorted to, and a world of trouble taken, to 
ingratiate Mr. Sapientium into her good graces. Little 
parties were assembled, here and there, and things were 
dexterously managed by a ruling hand, so as to throw 
them together on numerous occasions. 

A report was soon in circulation, that Mr. Ben Slo- 
cum was going to do Miss Wallace the honor of taking 
care of her fortune. Of course, it was a good and char- 
itable act in the aforesaid Ben ; a considerate act, that 
entitled him to a large arnbunt of self-approbation. She 
was a lone girl, and needed a helping hand in the man- 
agement of her estate. For this, Mr. Slocum was ad- 
mirably calculated ! Who will say it was not a charity 
in him, to entertain so good an intention ? Gentle read- 
er, give Mr. Slocum the credit that is his due, while 
we unfold one more page in his history. 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


405 


CHAPTER XXXVL 

A CASE OF SUPERSTITION, SHOWING HOW MR. BEN SLOCUH 
BECAME FULLY PERSUADED THAT HE WAS TO BECOME 
THE GUARDIAN OF AGNEs’s FORTUNE. A SCENTED LET- 
TER. MR. LOVEGOOD SAYING A HARD WORD. 

The most yielding bodies in Nature, such as Air, 
Water, Steam, are said to be the most powerful agents. 
We do not avouch for it. Let it pass for what it is 
worth ; or, if the question must be discussed, we leave 
it to those whose province it is to elucidate such learned 
topics. 

But, we are confident, that there is an analogy in the 
intellectual world ; things the most light and airy are 
frequently the most potential. The speculative notions 
of the hair-brained theorist, are often found adequate to 
the task of throwing into the shade, to some minds, 
truths that ages of wisdom and experience have illus- 
trated and verified. A quack always performs mira- 
cles, and gets credit for what he does not, while the 
regular practitioner gains no credit for what he does. 
And so with mankind generally ; one portion of the 
race plods along at a slow pace, in a beaten path ; an- 
other reaches the goal in half the time, on the pathway 
of quackery and pretension. 

The truth is, there is a superabundance of superstition 
in the human family ; and this is the element that all pre: 
te aders lay hold upon. Joseph Miller did it ; and so did 
J >seph Smith, and Mahomet ; so also does the “ Spirit- 


406 THE BLEMMEKTONS; OR, 

rapping” mummery ; nor are they the only quacks the 
world has produced in the pseudo-religious line. We 
could name several scores of them ; hut, in many quar- 
ters, we should not receive the credit due to the dis- 
covery. 

Talk about the Salem Witchcraft as you please, as an 
exploded piece of foolery, we aver that it is not explod- 
ed. It lives in one form or another, and, ever and 
anon, manifests itself in some new phase, dress, or phe- 
nomenon. There are numerous belie.vers in the “ Dark 
Mystery the world is full of superstition, of Hags, too, 
and Wizards. The doctrine of Fatality, “what is to 
be will be,” which has been fostered, even by many re- 
ligionists, has had no small influence in keeping alive and 
developing superstition, in some shape or form. But 
we will not discuss the question. We merely assert the 
fact, that superstition does exist. The Salem Witch- 
craft has left its mark. 

We know many persons, who would not set out on a 
journey on a Friday, or commence any new work on 
that day ; many more, who have their lucky and un- 
lucky omens, good and bad dreams, to which they at- 
tach great importance. Even Mrs. Blemmerton had 
her good and evil “signs.” When her right ear 
“ burnt,” some one, she doubted not, was talking good 
of her ; had it been the left, the reverse would have 
been the case. But the “ sign” signally failed in the 
fashionable saloon : “ ignorance is bliss,” sometimes. 
We knew a neighborhood in our young days, in which 
an old hag held sway, to such an extent, that she was 
consulted on almost all difficult diseases, and on rob- 
beries, love affairs, and sundry other matters. Her 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 407 

house was a thoroughfare, day and night, for the citi- 
zens many miles around. If a hog was stolen, she was 
sure to be consulted ; and the sage answer would be, 
“ It was carried away by land or water a very satis- 
factory answer indeed. 

All the colored race who were ‘‘ tricked,”* had to 
‘‘ have the trick removed.” Nor was this confined entire- 
ly to the ignorant and unlettered. Many, of whom 
better things might have been expected, had unbound- 
ed confidence in Tippy, and consulted her, as time and 
chance allowed, but always clandestinely, for they were 
ashamed to have it known ! 

Not far from the city of , a cove makes in from 

the river, through a narrow inlet, which runs round the 
base of a high, craggy, rocky hill, and spreads out into 
a basin, somewhat in the shape of a horse-shoe, — a 
shape very apt in the philosophy of witchcraft. This 
sheet of water is entirely hid from the shore, by the 
hill round whose base the inlet flows. Were you to fol- 
low the inlet, however, you would find that it leads to 
a secluded sheet of water, hemmed in by rocky hills, 
on whose sides grow tall pines and oaks, whose branches 
sweep out over the cove, and, at almost all hours of the 
day, shut out the rays of the sun, making it a dark, 
dank, dreary, solemn-looking place, and altogether 
adapting it to the pretensions, incantations, and orgies 
of an old hag. 


^ For the benefit of the reader who may be unlearned in such mat- 
ters, we state, that the colored race are very superstitious, and often 
fancy or pretend, that they are conjured by witches. This often occa- 
sions trouble ; they grow indolent, petulant, and turbulent ; and noth- 
ing will answer, but a counter-conjurer to remove the “ trick.” 


408 


THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 


At the period of which we write, one of these wretch- 
ed old pretenders and vile impostors had located her- 
self at the base of one of these hills, by the side of the 
cove, as a place adapted to her occupation. Her hovel 
was constructed of poles, brought together at the top, in 
the shape of a cone or pyramid, and covered over with 

dirt ; and thither, as many of the citizens of , or of 

any other part of the world, as chose to avail them- 
selves of the knowing deeds of old Hagar, wended 
their way, to consult her on their future destiny. 

Mr. Ben Slocum Sapientium, after taking it into his 
head, or having it put there, that it would be a kind- 
ness in him to marry Agnes Wallace, with all his tri- 
umphant Presbyterianism, could not resist the tempta- 
tion (indeed we know not that he estimated the great- 
ness of the sin, or thought of such a thing,) of consulting 
the far-famed old hag. Accordingly, on a drizzly, sombre 
day in October, Mr. Slocum might have been found at 
the door of the hovel of the hag, an opening formed by 
leaving a space uncovered between two poles. When 
Mr. Slocum approached, she was in the act of drawing 
a diminutive bucket from a mimic well, formed by 
planting a keg in the earth, before which she sat on an 
old stool. At her side was a stand, on which was 
placed a looking-glass facing the entrance to the hovel. 
This enabled her to see Mr. Slocum as he approached ; 
and now, as he stands looking on in amazement, she, 
without appearing to notice him, goes on with her in- 
cantations : 

“Hocus-pocus in the well, 

I draw the water out ; 

Hocus-pocus will you tell, 

What’s this young man about.” 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


400 


‘‘ There, Sir,” said she, turning to Ben, and scowling 
upon him, at the same time filling a glass with water 
from the bucket, “ look into that water. Sir ! What do 
you see ?” “ Nothing,” says Ben, as pale as a sheet, 
and trembling from head to foot. “ See nothing. Sir ? 
Your eyes want rubbing with the blue butter saying 
which, she rubs something all over Ben’s eyes. “ What’s 
see now. Sir? Baby, I reckon ? Eh? No, Sir, man? 
No, Sir, girl I reckon ? Eh ? Thought so.” 

“ I want to inquire about a girl,- Madam,” says 
Ben, doffing his hat, and growing wonderfully polite, 
as he wipes the sweat-drops from his brow. “ Eh ? I 
knew it. Bich, eh ? I knew it. Chances, eh ? Want 
to know ? Couldn’t do without old Hagar. Thought so. 

‘ Hocus-pocus, tell me how, 

Sal, sal, olus cobus, 

I’m to give directions now, 

Fi, fa, habus nobus V 

‘‘ Yes, Sir, I read it now ; not easy, but may be made 
so. Yes : he’s under his lucky star, takes lucky money.” 
At this Ben startles, and begins to feel in his pockets. 
“ Lucky money. Sir. Twenty round silver dollars for 
luck. Yes : that’s it, as I read it ; that’s what the Ho- 
cus-pocus tells me.” 

Poor Ben has noj; a silver dollar in his pocket. 

“ Won’t a twenty dollar note do ?” quoth Ben, wip- 
ing the perspiration from his pale brow. 

‘ “Hocus-pocus, will it do ? 

Hocus-pocus, tell me true.’ 

“ Ah, yes : the lucky star is there. It’ll do, Sir.” 

18 


410 


THE BLEMMEKTONS; OK, 


Ben pays the twenty dollai’s. 

“ KoWy Sir, you are to put a long pole in your hat, in 
place of your head, and fasten to it a piece of fat bacon, 
and go out into the yard every night, holding it up high 
above your head, singing this song : 

‘ Leather- wing’d bat, come under my hat, 

I’ll give you a piece of fat bacon, 

Come under my hat, leather- wing’d bat. 

And the girl I will have I reckon.’ 

“ And if a bat flies into the hat, then you are sure of 
carrying the day.” 

Mr. Slocum returned home, wonderfully edifled, and 
with a light heart. Never had he witnessed such wis- 
dom ; nor did he dream that old Hagar was not mis- 
tress of all sciences. What sights he had seen. Lucky 
stars ; an old witch reading his destinies in a glass of 
water. 

Every night, for a month or more, found Mr. Slocum 
in his aunt’s yard, dangling up his long pole, stuck in 
his hat. But he could never remember the charmed 
w^rds of the hag ; so he called aloud to the bat : 

. “ Batty, batty. 

Come under my hatty ; 

If you don’t come soon, 

I’ll go right home, 

And then you’ll miss thelbacon.” 

At last, one night, after a long trial, whether Ben’s 
wishes were the interpreter, or his eyes, sure enough a 
bat flew under his hat. That settled the question. Ben 
ran to his room, and commenced jumping his broom- 
stick again. 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 411 

A few days after, Agnes, mucli to her surprise, 
received a sweet little note from him, handsomely done 
up in a beautiful and highly-scented envelope, modestly 
asking the privilege of paying his addresses to her. 
Bah ! that was too much. Agnes was greatly amused 
with it, and handed it to Mr. Lovegood, as a curiosity. 
“The puppy!” he exclaimed. Ah, Mr. Lovegood, 
take care ! — “ The puppy !” “ Let me answer that, my 

daughter !” He did answer it. 

And here we draw the curtain. The Blemmertons 

•r»/^ ryrtr\-fQ oaa-n in Rf V chlirch. 


412 


THE BLEMMEKTONS; OK, 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

CLOSING SCENES. PAKTING CLOUDS. MEKRY CHILDREN. 

Autumn and winter rolled away. Spring came with 
its singing-birds and flowers ; March, April, Mr. Heart- 
ful has not yet returned. The days seem long and 
dreary, to more hearts than one. Mr. Lovegood is 
really getting nervous ; he fears some accident has 
befallen Jonathan. And he half suspects Agnes of 
sharing in his suspense. She is at the Rectory, twice a 
day, but never asks a question on the subject. 

At last, about the middle of May, Mr. Heartful 
touches the soil of his native land, takes a carriage, and 
drives first for the Rectory. O, how his heart throbs, 
as he stands once more upon its threshold ; and in a 
moment more, he is greeted by his old friend and 
Pastor, and they embrace each other. 

But what changes a few years had wrought. Mr. 
and Mrs. Lovegood looked ten years older to him ; his 
Pastor’s head was already silvered over with age. But 
they were happy. And Agnes ! Did he ask for her ? 
Yes. “ Is dear Agnes well ? Is she happy ?” 

“ Ah, Jonathan, boy, I know your secret,” said Mr. 
Lovegood, rubbing his hands. “ I reckon it’s all right 
now. The dear girl was only misguided by her judg- 
ment, I think. I have convinced her of that. It is 
not that she thinks her fortune makes her any more 
worthy of you ; or that it ought to make her any more 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 413 

estimable in the eyes of the world. It was all the result 
of an over-sensitiveness. She is older now, and is the 
same dear, modest, unassuming Agnes.” 

Three days rolled away, and Mr. Heartful has not 
yet called to see Agnes ; and once, when he was at the 
Eectory, she being ignorant that he was there, came in, 
but they did not meet ; for, when he heard her voice in 
the hall, much agitated he passed hastily into an 
adjoining room, and went out by a back door. 

On the fourth day after his arrival, a servant, in the 
morning, placed in the hands of Agnes a brief note. 
It read, — 

“Will dear Agnes indulge me with her company, 
this afternoon, over the same road that in days gone by 
we once passed so sadly ? J. H.” 

Agnes’s heart now beat with new emotions. At the 
appointed hour, the carriage drove to her door ; and she 
was in readiness. Hever before had she appeared so 
lovely in his eyes. She stood before him the same lit- 
tle Agnes, whose mournful eye flashed on his under the 
dim-burning lamp ; the same Agnes, whom, seven years 
before, he had blessed, when she left home for Mrs. 
Densmore’s school; the same Agnes, to whom, two 
and a half years before, he had poured out his heart, 
when she was humble and desolate ; the same Agnes, 
who had magnanimously refused him her hand, if not 
her heart, when again, in his full tide of political glory, 
he had proffered it. There she stood before him, the 
wealthy heiress, the com’ted of fawning sycophants, the 
loved of the good and virtuous ; the same meek, gentle 


414 THE BLEMMEETONS; OE, 

Christian, that she had always been ; her radiant coun- 
tenance bespeaking the calm joys of her heart, now the 
full-grown, matured woman; her dark, lustrous eyes 
flashing upon him ; her auburn ringlets falling over her 
well-formed shoulders. 

And he, too, how changed ! Two and a half years 
abroad had brought to him their changes ; but all for 
the better. He was now in the thirty-sixth year of his 
age; and, in his absence, he had grown larger and 
fairer. In personal attractiveness, also, though always 
handsome, he had greatly improved. They stood gazing 
upon each other a moment, as if deprived of speech and 
motion. At last, turning away his head, he pointed to 
the carriage ; she approached ; he took her hand ; nei- 
ther spoke a word. Each heart was full. They had 
proceeded an hour, neither of them speaking a word ; 
scarcely noticing even the beautiful scenery which on 
all sides greeted the eye. They then turned homeward. 
The setting sun was just declining, behind the taU hills 
that overhung the beautiful river which swept past the 
city. The heavens were bespangled with rosy-tinted 
clouds, painted by the sun’s parting rays, which, reflect- 
ing far and near over heaven and earth, bathed every 
thing in beauty. 

“Agnes; may I call you dear Agnes?” Ho word 
was spoken in reply. Haught was heard but the heart’s 
pulsations. “ Yes : dear Agnes, is not this glorious sun- 
set to be a type of our future ?” 

********* 

The clouds have all vanished. Our story is told. 
Agnes is living in her own home ; and she and her pious 
husband are walking, hand in hand, and heart with heart. 


DOTT^NGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 415 

along the path of life. With thankfulness for all past 
mercies, morning and evening they bend the knee to- 
gether in prayer ; and the little ones who prattle about 
the house, are “members of Christ, children of God, 
and inheritors of the kingdom of heaven;” and are 
taught, so soon as they are old enough to understand, 
what holy creatures they were made in baptism, what 
holy blessings and privileges were then bestowed upon 
them. The Church, too, finds in them true and liberal 
friends. The poor never call upon them in vain ; their 
large fortune is devoted to liberal uses ; and the treas- 
ures of the Church are increased by their generous 
offerings. 

And now Mr. Heartful, in playful mood, often tells 
Agnes, that she was a naughty thing, to have treated 
him so badly. And then, pressing her to his bosom, 
and imprinting a kiss upon her pure forehead, he would 
say, “ I love you three times the more for it. Thus I re- 
turn good for evil.” 

So the Lord doth bless the true of heart. 

“Look at the generations of old, and see: 

Did ever any trust in the Lord and was confounded? 

Or did any abide in His fear, and was forsaken ? 

Or whom did He ever despise that called upon Him.’' 

Ecclus. ii. 10. 


416 


THE BLEMMEKTONS; OE 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

CONCLUSION. 

One of those terrible crises in the financial world swept 
Mr. John Blemmerton by the board, and wrecked his 
splendid fortune, reducing him almost to beggary, in 
his declining days. 

Of all his wealth, and years of luxury and ostentation, 
there scarcely remained to him enough to secure an 
humble cottage and ten acres of land, in the suburbs of 
the city ; and here he and his wife spent the evening of 
their days in obscurity, raising vegetables for the market, 
and making butter, which one or the other of them took 
to town every morning in a mule-cart. 

Miss Julia Jasper, at the age of twenty-six, married 
Mr. Ben Slocum, who set himself up in a tobacco and 
candy shop. Miss Deliah Airmyth and Mr. Slopill, 
though never exactly satisfied with each other, kept up 
their engagement, till Mr. Blemmerton’s magnificent 
failure, when, as Miss Deliah said, it was broken off by 
mutual consent, and she rejoiced all the days of her life 
in the cognomen of an “ elderly young lady.” 

Mr. Slopill cut his cards in another direction, but had 
not bettered his condition when last we heard of him. 
His whiskers had turned gray, but he regularly dyed 
them, when they presented a motley mixture of gray 
and sandy-red. 

Dr. Kiproarer lived long enough to see large num- 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


417 


bers of bis flock forsake Presbyterianism, for tbe “ old 
paths.” And tbe Millennium bad not come when be 
died. 

Mr. and Mrs. Friendly died, as they bad lived, and 
were gathered unto their fathers in peace, in “ tbe com- 
munion of the catholic Church.” Peace be to their 
memory ! It lives after them, in the annals of many 
charities, and is embalmed in the hearts of multitudes 
of the poor of the earth. 

“Let them sleep, let them sleep on, 

Till tn’ eternal morrow dawn. 

And then, — the curtain shall be drawn.” 

Crashaw. 

As to Mrs. Fussy, Mrs. Fastidious, and Mrs. Nochurch, 
we trace their history no farther ; and we leave them to 
their own consciences, with the glowing and thoughtful 
lines of the poet, as a fltting comment on their and the 
Blemmertons’ lives : 

“ Lord ! with what care Thou dost begirt us round ! 

Parents first season us. Then Schoolmasters 

Deliver us to laws. They send us bound 

To rules of reason. Holy Messengers ; 

Pulpits and Sundays ; sorrow dogging sin ; 

Afflictions sorted ; anguish of all sizes ; 

Fine nets and stratagems to catch us in ; 

Bibles laid open ; millions of surprises ; 

Blessings before-hand ; ties of gratefulness ; 

The sound of glory ringing in our ears ; 

Without our shame, within oar consciences ; 

Angels and grace ; eternal hopes and fears ! 

Yet, — all these fences and their whole array 

One cunning bosom-sin blows quite away !” 

Herbert. 

After the recovery of his wife’s health, as heretofore 

18 » 


418 


THE BLEMMEKTONS; OK, 


related, and the withdrawal of the several malcontents, 
no more sorrows cast their shadow across the life of Mr. 
Lovegood. He and his wife, hand in hand, journeyed 
to the tomb, in a life of singular unity and devotion, — 

“ In regions mild, of calm and serene air, 

Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot 
Which men call earth." 


The Pastor lived to see the children of Jonathan and 
Agnes growing up to maturity. He had no children of 
his own ; and these little prattlers were recognized as 
his grand-children. A loving spectacle it was, to see 
the old gentleman, in his declining days, enjoy the 
sports of these little innocents as they played “ upon his 
knees.” 

“Jonathan,” he would say, “it makes me young 
again.” And grandpa’s stories about the birds, and the 
chickens, and the fox-hunts, and fishing, caused all the 
little sparkling eyes to be riveted on him. 

But he has gone ! The tall green grass waves over 
his grave. Jonathan and Agnes have removed many 
of his sanctified roses from Heartfulville, and planted 
them by his grave, in his church-yard, and these bloom 
above his narrow home, marking the spot to the passer- 
by, where the good man lies. And the little wrens play 
about their branches as of old ; and the birds sing in 
the weeping-willow that bends sorrowfully over his 
grave. 

But, he is singing “ the new song” of the Lamb, in 
the Paradise of God. 

Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God of Hosts, Heaven 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


419 


AND EARTH ARE FULL OF THY GlORY. GlORY BE TO 

Thee, O Lord, Most High ! 

“The righteous live for evermore, 

Their reward also is with Jehovah, 

And the care of them is with the Most High. 

Therefore, they shall receive the kingdom of glory, 

And the diadem of beauty from the hand of Jehovah.” 

Wisdom v. 15, 16. 

And now, kind reader, who have journeyed with us 
thus far, if the moments that we have stolen from slum- 
ber, while you have been blessed with angel visitants, 
have contributed a gleam of Hope or Joy to your 
heart, or taught you to shun the path of evil, or turned 
your heart or feet heavenward, to Him from whom all 
good gifts do come be the praise and glory. We lay 
our humble offering upon His altar, and beg His 
blessing upon it. 

And if you desire to know “ where our sketch 
belongs ?” we answer “ Howhere in particular ; every- 
where in general.” Our whole aim has been to give 
sketches of character ; of life as it is. If we have at 
times bordered on the sentimental, we can only say, we 
have not aimed to be romantic, but true to real life. 
We know not that we have anywhere overshot the lines 
of life, as they run about us day by day. We have 
spent a few leisure hours with the past ; sometimes on 
one picture, sometimes on another. We cannot say 
that we are satisfied with the performance, and there- 
fore shall not be disappointed if you are not. Life is a 
mingled picture of sunshine and cloud, calm and storm, 
spice and wormwood, sweet and bitter, flowers and 
withered leaves. 


420 


THE BLEMMEETONS; OE, 

We write from glimpses and shadows of the past, and 
if the light-hearted mingle occasionally with the sober 
and the meditative, it is but the blending into one of. 
the two sides of life, Eeality and Poetry, Youth and 
Age. 


“ Verse a breeze ’mid blossoms straying, 
Where Hope clung feeding, like a bee 
Both were mine ! Life went a Maying, 
With Nature, Hope, and Poesy, 

When I was young ! 
When I was young 1 Ah, woful when ! 

Ah, for the change ’twixt now and then ! 
This breathing house not built with hands, 
This body that does me grievous wrong, 
O’er airy cliffs and glittering sands 
How lightly then it flash’d along : 

Like those trim skiffs unknown of yore, 

On winding lakes and rivers wide. 

That ask no aid of sail or oar, 

That fear no spite of wind or tide ! 

Naught cared this body for wind or weather. 
When youth and I lived in’t together. 
Flowers are lovely ; Love is flower-like ; 

Friendship is a sheltering tree, 

O, the joys that came down shower-like 
Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty, 

Ere I was old. 

Ere I was old ! Ah, woful ere ! 

Which tells me Youth’s no longer here ! 

0 Youth ! for years so many and sweet, 

Tis known that thou and I were one. 

I’ll think it but a fond conceit, 

It cannot be, that thou art gone 1 
Thy vesper-bell hath not yet toll’d : 

And thou wert aye a masker bold ! 

What strange disguise hast now put on, 

To make-believe that thou art gone ? 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


421 


I see these locks in silver slips, 

This drooping gait, this alter’d size ; 

But spring-tide blossoms on thy lips. 

And tears, take sunshine from thine eyes I 
Life is but thought ; so think I will 
That youth and I are housemates still I” 

Coleridge. 

Therefore, leave me with the past ! I would not for 
get the days of my boyhood. There is a magic in the 
sentence ; a strange thrilling sensation, which runs 
through the heart, makes a trembling on the lips, and 
crystals in the eyes. 

When I was a boy ! 

When I was a boy ? Ah, happy when ! 

Youth and I were playmates then! 

O’er brook and dale, through woody glade 
We rov’d along, as light of heart 
As mate-lambs playing in the shade. 

And fondly thought we ne’er should part I 
But youth play’d truant on a day. 

And left me hapless and forlorn ; 

Alone I journey’d o’er the way. 

Mourning the while that Youth was gone. 

And I left mateless and alone I 
And art thou gone, my sweet mate-fellow, 

In the tug of life and strife. 

Wilt not return in Autumn, mellow. 

To soothe the weary eve of life ? 

Ah, once a man, but twice a boy ! 

Such is the lot of all below. 

Who live till life becomes a toy. 

And then how gladly would they go 1 
But, Youth comes back with mimic smile. 

And plays with Age a little while : 

Then Age grows young, and smiles at Youth, 

And thinks, meantime, in very truth. 

That Youth and he again are one, 

A moment more, and both are gone ! 


422 


THE BLEMMERTONS; OR, 


All, we all have a treasure in the past. We love to 
meditate upon it. It opens the heart’s fountains. It 
draws us away from earth. It sets us on our heaven- 
ward journey. The eye opens upon the landscape, and 
the sunlight paints it on the retina, as no painter can 
paint it on the canvas, drawing info so narrow a com- 
pass the most extended and beautiful view. To see the 
Lord’s Prayer copied perfectly on the size of a dime, 
is a rare sight, a beautiful piece of art ; but, O what a 
canvas is the little eye, and what a painter the sun- 
light ! 

And yet, how compares this with the light of other 
days, which prints upon the memory lines, ineffaceable, 
of all we have ever seen, or heard, or done ? What 
was it but the hand of the Almighty, that took from 
the eye, and the ear, and the thoughts, so many pic- 
tures of all that ever passed before us or within us in 
life, and traced them on the memory never to be blot- 
ted out. 

So it is, our young days come back to us as we 
pass down the vale of life. So it is, all the past will 
be revealed before us, in the pages of memory, in the 
world to come. What a glowing palimpsest, as De 
Quincey writes, is the mepiory ! If we have assisted 
you, reader, in “ unrolling some leaves” of your mem- 
ory, or in looking into the book of life, our work is 
done. 

Life runs in crooked paths here, there, everywhere, 
like the erratic volitations of the bird on the wing ; and, 
not often like the busy bee, which, when freighted with 
his sweets, makes a straight line for his hive, nor de- 
viates from it, except for intervening objects, round 


DOTTINGS BY THE WAYSIDE. 


423 


which he passes, and falls into the same straight line 
again, then wings his way onward, right on. So we 
have written, following the bird on the wing, because he 
is a type of life as it is. 

And here, with a grateful heart, we bid you Faee- 
WELL, joining in the song due from all flesh unto the 
Father, Redeemer, and Sanctifler of our spirits : 
Sahctus, Sanctus, Sanctus, Dominus Detjs Omnipo- 

TENS, QUI FUIT, QUI EST, ET QUI YENTUKUS EST. 


THE END. 





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(10) The same, with clasp 3.00 

24mo. 


(1) Turkey Morocco, super extra, antique or flexible,. . .gilt edges $2.00 


(2) The same, with clasp 2.50 

(3) Turkey Morocco (Second Style,) giltedges .. 1.25 

D) The same, with clasp 1.75 

(5) French Morocco giltedges ... 1.00 

(6) Roan giltedges 80 

(7) Roan red edges 75 

(8) Roan marble edges 63 


NEW STYLES. 


(9) Calf Antique, super extra red edges.... 2.00 

(10) The same, with clasp 2.50 


These Editions are printed in a superior manner, 
and excel other editions, of same general style, in the 
size of type of the Psalms and Hymns. 


Publications of Dana and Company. 


HEART AND HOME TRUTHS. — By the Rev. R. 

WniTTiNGHAM, Jr. \%no., pages. Price., cents. 

Heart and Home Truths is the modest title of a work, in which will 
be found much more than the average of deep thought, and true ten- 
der feeling. Dom the contemplation of the most familiar features 
of natural things, the nature of Truth is beautifully illustrated, and 
the modes by which it is to be attained are shown to be in the closest 
analogy with the other works of Him, who hath composed in one 
Spirit, both the Book of Nature and the Book of Revelation. Its 
doctrinal tone is high and uncompromising, though altogether devoid 
of hai'shness ; and the drapery of style is as rich with the embroidery 
of fancy and a glowing imagination, as the glorious face of nature it- 
self can make it. This unpretending work will make a way for the 
Truth in the minds of many, upon whom a more didactic manner 
would be thrown away. Church Journal. 

THE END OF CONTROVERSY, CONTROVERTED. 
— By the Rt. Rev. John H. Hopkins, D.D., Bishop of Ver- 
mont. In two vols. 127no., 918 pages. Price., $200. 

The well-known work of the Romish Bishop, Milner, entitled, “ The 
End of Controversy^ was recommended some years ago by the Romish 
Bishop Kenrick, to all our Bishops, as a book, the perusal of which 
would bring them into the Romish Church ; a movement which he 
exhorted them to take soon, lest their people should all go before them, 
and leave them alone. That work is still extensively circulated 
throughout all this country, and many earnest Protestants have long 
desired a work which might be a popular as well as a conclusive 
reply. This want is now supplied. Milner is plausible, ingenious, 
bold, unscrupulous, and withal readable. The difficulty has been 
hitherto, not to answer the book — for that has been done again and 
again — but to answer it in such a way as would enable them to meet 
the enemy upon his own ground. The well-known familiarity of the 
Bishop of Vermont with every phase of the Romish controversy, his 
thorough learning, clear reasoning, and brilliant and effective style, 
have all contributed to make this one of the most successful of his 
contributions to the cause of Truth. And the present position of the 
controversy with Rome, and the keenness with which public attention 
is aroused to meet her terrible aggressions, will give occasion for the 
circulation of works like this, which, without ever compromising or 
ignpring the truth still remaining in the midst of corruption, yet, 
throughout, maintains the most vigorous and triumphant opposition, 
to the errors of Rome. 


17 


Publications of Dana and Company, 


STEPS TO THE ALTAR, WITH A COMPANION TO 
THE ALTAR.— A new edition; adapted to use in the 
United States of America. 18mo., 140 pages. 

Muslin. Price^ 25 cents. 

Also a cheap edition in paper at $1.50 per dozen. 

At once the token and the means, if God permit, of Christian com- 
munion with brethren in a far-distant land, it is offered to the devout 
Churchman of America, with the full knowledge and sanction of the 
author. It will be found in accordance with the eleventh English edi- 
tion, such alterations only having been introduced as were found 
necessary to make it correspond with the Book of Common Prayer, 
according to the use of the Church in the United States. 

TESTIMONY OF SCRIPTURE to the Teaching of the 
Church on Holy Baptism — (A new Edition of the Tract 
already well known under the title of '■’'The Sacrament of 
Besponsibility T) \^mo.^ (oh pages. 00 per hundred. 

An admirable summary of the teaching of Holy Scripture and 
the Church on the subject of Baptism, with especial reference to the 
case of Infants. Every text in the Bible relating to the subject is 
carefully examined, and the teaching of Inspiration is brought out 
fully by- com paring text with text. The grace conferred in Baptism 
is conclusively proved, while at the same time it is clearly shown to 
be a different thing from conversion, with which it is often confounded. 
Tlie peculiar responsibility of every baptized person, for the right 
use of the grace in this Sacrament given, is earnestly pressed as one 
of the highest incitements to the Christian life. The general teach- 
ings of this book have been approved by more than twenty of the 
Bishops of the Church. 

THE SACERDOTAL TITHE. — By Adam Townlef, Pres- 
byter of the Diocese of Toronto.^ C. W. ISmo., Oh pages. 

Price, 25 cents. 

Christ dishonored. His Priesthood beggared. His truth trampled 
upon, and His redeemed ones perishing 1 Here is my apology for 
daring to bring so bitterly unpopular a subject as the Christian duty 
of paying Ministerial Tithes, before covetous disciples, and a flesh- 
loving generation. I would clear my own soul ; and if the grace be 
vouchsafed me, awaken a fear amongst the faithful, to the awful con- 
sequences of a “Moth-eaten” Church. Christ has himself shown us 
the remedy. “His seed is in herself.” May this be the day of His 
power, in which His people shall “ be made willing” to see and to 
do their duty ; at length bringing their Tithes and offerings abun- 
dantly unto Him I — Preface. 


19 


Publications of Dana and Comjiany. 


THE NIGHTINGALE. — ^ Tale of the Russian War 
Forty Years Ago — Beautifully Illustrated. \Smo., 96 
2 mges. Muslin. Price, 31 cents. 

Payer covers, 16 cents. 

Die Nightingale, or A Kind Act is Never lost, is a pleasant little 
Tale, from the German of Christopher Schmid. The incidents are 
laid in the Russian war, forty years ago, and among the many warm 
sympathizers with Russia now abounding among us, this interesting 
little story will be welcomed with more than common zest. It is 
intended for children, and teaches a moral of the law of kindness — 
not by tagging the moral to the end of tlie story, but by making it 
the living pi’ineiple Avhich gives life to the whole. It is handsomely 
gotten up, with several spirited wood-cuts, printed in tint. 

Church Journal. 

This is a beautiful story, from the German of Christoph Schmid, 
exquisitely told, about a poor lad who wanted to be a carriage-maker, 
and was befriended by a great lady, and learned his trade, and came 
to affluence and power, and saved the life of the son of his benefac- 
tress, The moral is happily pointed, and the story, though simple in 
its plot, attracts great interest by its touches of sentiment and pathos. 

Protestant Churchman. 

A. pretty story beautifully published. Hartford Daily Courant. 

A pleasant little narrative. * * * * It is beautifully and 

suitably illustrated. Troy Daily Whig. 

This is a sweet and instructive tale, from one of the most popular 
German writers, and is done into English by a competent hand. 

Die Calendar. 

THINGS TO BE REMEMBERED. — as Buy- 

ylementary to the Church Catechism. 32mo., 16 pages, 
for the Pocket. Price, $4.00 hundred. 

An admirable and comprehensive summary, in which the chief 
subjects of additional catechetical instruction are most conveniently 
grouped, so as best to aid the youthful memory. 


22 


Publications of Dana and Company. 


UNISON OF THE LITURGY. From Advent to Ash- 
Wednesday. By Archer Gifford, A. M. 12mo. 328 
pages. ^ Price., $1.00. 

It is pleasing to see a mind which has been long given to the duties 
of a severe profession, turning thus for relief and diversion into the 
brighter field of theological literature. Mr. Gifford has already gained 
a distinction in New Jersey by several legal works, which have had 
the patronage of our Legislature, and now we have another volume 
from his pen, intended, as it were, for a dutiful offering to his 
Church. 

The design of the work is to unfold and illustrate the more pro 
found and unapparent excellencies of that most elaborate of all pro- 
ductions, the Episcopal Liturgy. Although there may be a difference 
of opinion as to the utility of this manual of devotional formularies, 
yet no one can fail to admire it as an sesthetical composition. The 
manner in which it has been arranged and ordered is most strikingly 
beautiful. It is a frame filled with moveable pieces. On no two 
occasions of its use does it appear exactly alike, but constantly 
assumes new combinations with the progressive sentiment of the 
ecclesiastical year. These ever-changing portions within this unalter- 
able framework are wholly of a Scriptural character. For every 
Sunday, two chapters are selected from the Old Testament, and two 
from the New, called the “Lessons;” and two brief passages, chosen 
for their weighty and emphatic import, called the “ Epistle” and the 
“ Gospel,” are appropriately prefixed by a comprehensive and leading 
prayer, whose substance has been gathered out of them, called the 
“ Collect.” But this is not merely a superficial arrangement: an aim 
and a principle underlies it all. Every Sunday and Holy-day has an 
especial subject assigned to it, either doctrinal or preceptive, which 
runs through and dictates all these variations of the Service. Thus in 
every week the Scriptures are made, by these manifold citations from 
them, to cluster around some central thought and flash their light 
upon it. 

It is this which has furnished the design of Mr. Gifford’s book. 
The Prayer-Book has had many commentators, all of whom have 
alluded to the nearly-inspired wisdom of those who put it together. 
The further they penetrate it the more they seem to discover the 
long-forgotten ideal and matured plan out of which it grew. The 

8 


Publications of Dana and Company. 


remarkable fact of an intentional unison of its apparently diverse 
parts, has only been partially observed, and it has been left to Mr. 
Gifford to discover and prove in every case the beautiful appositeness 
of all to one nucleus idea. This, under the heading of each Sunday, 
he distinctly sets forth, and then traces its radiations first through the 
Collect, then through the Epistle, then through the Gospel, then 
through all the Lessons, to its remoter scintillations in the Catechism 
and the Articles of Religion. 

Such is the fine conception around which the above work has 
grown. The service of each Sunday is analyzed and outlined — all the 
information that could be compressed into a small space is given, and 
a rich variety of association instantly suggested to the devout wor- 
shipper. Probably no one could have been found better fitted for 
such a task than Mr. Gifford, and his cultivated taste and wide range 
of study have been now so successfully called into requisition that 
we find here the thoughts and beauties of many different writers 
blended about his own design in a many-hued mosaic. 

It is at once a noble eulogy upon the Liturgy, and a practical standard 
guide to its use. In this latter, its real purpose, it most admirably 
succeeds. The moral or spirit of each day being full}^ set forth, the 
attention is sustained and devotion quickened bj^ the new colors and 
the defined interest thus thrown over the Service as it proceeds. A 
Liturgy is liable to abuse if people may go blindly and desultorily 
through it, but here the clue of every recurring service is seized and 
industriously pursued for them. One prominent topic is seen to draw 
its line of light round all its parts, and bind them together as with 
a girdle of gold. 

We have been glad to devote more than usual space to the notice 
of this work, because it is the production of one of oiu‘ townsmen. 
A few specimen pages appeared about a year ago, which received the 
approbation of many of the most distinguished men in the Episcopal 
Church, and the author, thus encouraged, has put forth the present 
handsome volume, designing to follow it by another, thus completing 
the circle of the year. Neioark Daily Aduerilser. 

The work will do good in two ways: first, by furnishing valuable, 
practical matter for private reading and instruction ; and second!}",,; 
by dissipating the mist which some writers have conjured up, in their 
effoi'ts to show that the Prayer Book was a piece of patch-work, 
with an Arminian or a Popish Liturgy, and Calvinistic Articles ; than 
which, no fancy could be more foolish or futile. Calendar. 

0 


Publications of Dana and Company. 


SERMONS FOR THE TIMES. By the Rev. Charles 
Kingsley, Author of “ Village Sermons f “ Alton Lockef 
<kc. 12wo., 360 pages. Price ^ 75 cents. 

These Sermons are Kingsley all over; deep, daring, .dashing, pene- 
trating, vigorous. ^»^*************^» 
It strikes us as being a kind of preaching that we want just no\» 
— that it is indeed preaching “ for the times;” in character with 
the times, and, therefore, adapted for the times; yet, not in any 
spirit of compromise with the world therein, but rather combating 
the spirit of the world with the Spirit of Christ, in a matter-of- 
fact way. We think, therefore, that the Clergy may find some use- 
ful hints in the pages of this volume, while the Laity may peruse 
them witli practical advantage. Churchman. 

These are remarkable Sermons, as were those of his former volume. 
They are models of a plain and direct style, sparkling with forcible 
allusions and applications. They illustrate the teaching of our Cate- 
chism to a considerable extent, and often in the happiest manner, 
regarding it as a symbol of Catholic truth. They are worth reading 
for their power and demonstrations of most important doctrines, little 
heeded in these times, when the Puritan and Sectarian spirit seeks to 
prevail. Banner of the Cross. 

This is a reprint of one of the most characteristic, if not one of the 
most exti’aordinary volumes of the day, which no one can read with- 
out interest, and few without profit. There is something striking, not 
to say startling, about everything the author says ; and yet the lan- 
guage is so simple and appropriate, as to be perfectly intelligible to 
every one. Calendar. 

A capital volume it is — his style seems to gain in directness, crisp- 
ness, vigor, and momentum, as he grows older. It is as clear as Eng- 
lish can be made. A healthy common sense rules throughout. * * 

* * * * jn our day when muddy heads do so greatly abound, a 

volume of such sturdy, pungent, powerful and illuminating Saxon, is 
of the highest worth. Church Journal. 

They are incomparable Sermons for^Xay-reading. 

10 


Puhlicatlons of Dana and Companrj. 


IMPRESSIONS OF ENGLAND. By the Rev. A. Cleve- 
land CoxE. \2mo., ZAQ pages. Price, $1. 

The Rev. A. Cleveland Coxe has done a great favor to the early 
Subscribers of the Church Journal, by collecting and publishing in a 
volume, the Impressions of England, -which were so prominent and 
popular a feature of our paper during nearly the first year of its 
existence. To those early subscribers of ours, nothing beyond the 
bare announcement of the publication need be said, to recal the vivid 
memory of those delightful letters. But, for the sake of the more 
than three thousand that have been added since, we would say, that 
the volume, as a whole, is even more attractive, than were the weekly 
instalments then so keenly enjoyed. Mr. Coxe’s local knowledge of 
England, even before he landed on its shores, was extraordinary ; and 
it has enabled him to stock his pages with a richness, fulness and 
variety of allusion, which perpetually kindles new interest. His 
faculties of observation are more than commonly keen ; and his com- 
mand of language is equally graphic and vigorous. Singular good 
fortune seems to have attended him also. Lucky chances, such as 
common tourists may light on one or two, seem to have been showered 
on him at every turn. Incidents that have already become historic, 
are stamped, with freshest life, on every portion of the work. Again, 
as if before our eyes. Lord John Russell figures in the disgraceful and 
.contemptible mad farce of the Ecclesiastical Titles Bill. Again we 
see the Iron Duke bowing in lowly worship in the Chapel Royal of 
St. James. Again we wander under the vast long-drawn, and diaphan- 
ous expanse of the Crystal Palace. Again we rove from Cathedrals 
to Churches, and Colleges, and ruined Abbeys, and sequestered ham- 
lets, and breathe the pure rural air of living England, yet scented 
with the rich aroma of a glorious past. The essential unity of the 
two nations is ever uppermost in Mr. Coxe’s mind ; yet never, even in 
the Royal presence, does he forget his native Republicanism. His 
heart beats true and strong for the freedom and purity of the Reform- 
ation, and against tlie slavish corruptions of Rome ; yet yearns, 
with deepest love, towards everything rightly belonging to our deal 
Mother the Church ; and his trumpet rings out clear, with no uncer- 
tain note, against all who would mar her full proportion of “ the 
beauty of holiness.” In short, we are with the author, as it were 
persowaZZy, from the beginning to the end of the volume: and when 
we lay it down, it is with an instinctive asking — “ Shall we never 
travel with this charming companion again ?” Church Journal. 

11 


Puhlications of Dana and Compamj. 


IMPRESSIONS OF ENGLAND. By the Rev. A. Cleve- 
LAND CoxE. 12mo., 340 Price, %\. 

American Churchmen will find this the most delightful account of 
a visit to our mother country and mother Church, that has ever 
appeared. It was made in an interesting and memorable year, 1851 ; 
and the reputation which had preceded the author as a poet, scholar, 
and clergyman, procured for him at once a peculiarly cordial recep- 
tion, and such an intimate access to the various phases of English 
society, as is rarely enjoyed by American travellers. Thus supplied 
with an unusual richness of material, he lias produced a volume 
which will be read with universal interest and pleasure in both 
countries. ^ Banner of the Cross. 

'Though these sketches are descriptive of subjects with which we 
are all more or less familiar, yet it is both entertaining and instructive 
to trace the impressions received by a man of talent, education and 
refinement, who has avoided the common places of travel, and taken 
no delight in spying out the miseries of the land, but rather exhibited 
those phases o^ society, and higher points of English civilization, 
which give character and dignity to the English nation. 

Protestant Churchman. 

Books of travel and sojourn in England, have been so common, 
that we feel almost reluctant to take up a new work of this descrip- 
tion ; but we were agreeably disappointed in the volume before us. 
Mr. Coxe went abroad with many advantages. A Clergyman of the 
Church of England, with no mean reputation as a Christian poet : 
with many old correspondents of clerical and social repute “ in the 
land whither he went,” and to whom, of course, he was accredited ; 
and, moreover, with a determination not to be a one-sided observer, 
or a growling commentator; with all these advantages, it is not sur- 
prising that he “enjoyed himself;” and that he does not hesitate to 
say so, on all occasions, and in the most enthusiastic terms. 

The Knickerbocker Monthly Magazine. 

These agreeable sketches, which appeared originally in the columns 
of the New York Church Journal, are now presented to the readers 
in a revis-sd and connected form. 

Tliey do not embrace the tedious routine of “books of travel” — 
life at hotels, travelling in stage coaches or by rail, dimensions of 
public buildings, etc., etc., — all of which have been given an hundred 
times before in every diversity of form, — but I’ather give us pictures 
of English society, customs, men, manners, and events, embracing, as 
the author justly claims, a connected history of Great Britain for the 
year 1851, with readable sketches of many of its most prominent 
men — Whigs and Tories. Troy Daihi, Whig. 


12 


Publications of Dana and Company. 


OUR CHURCH MUSIC.— ^ Book for Pastors and People. 
By Richard Storks Willis. 12mo., 138 pages. 

Price. 50 cents. 

The Church has a good right to look to Mr. Richard S. Willis, as 
being, perhaps, of all our youthful native musicians, the one of whom 
she may expect the most true hearted and efficient service. His train- 
ing, however scientific, has not been that which would qualify him 
the most readily for usefulness in this field : but there is an earnest 
devotion of spirit, a reaching forth after the deep and the true, a 
growing strength and manliness, exercised and made firm by a steady 
industry, which promise the best results. He has just issued a neat 
little volume on Our Church Music, a Book for Pastors and People, 
which is the best and most thoughtful practical essay that has for a 
long time appeared among us. Church Journal. 


Were it not for the copyright on this admirable book, we should 
be compelled to transfer large portions of it to our pages. As it is, 
we hope to give, hereafter, some specimens of it, and in the mean 
time, cordially recommend it for its interest and the usefulness of its 
suggestions. Episcopal Recorder. 


Many of the articles collected in this pleasant and thoughtful 
volume have been already published in our columns ; and we are glad 
to know that they have attracted that attention among our readers 
which they deserve. The series is now completed, by the addition of 
others, not so well adapted to a journal like this, because requiring 
diagrams, etc., to illustrate them, but harmonious with those in tone 
and teaching, and equally rich in useful suggestions. Mr. Willis has 
brought the finest musical cultivation of Europe to assist him in his 
task, but has never allowed his artistic taste and knowledge to over- 
lay and smother his native good sense, or his instinctive perception 
of what is demanded in true church music. We have found his 
writings on this subject instructive and quickening ; the more so, per- 
haps, because our own half-formed thoughts have often been brought 
back to us by him, more fully and cleai’ly expressed than they had" 
been to ourselves, and clothed with the authority that belongs to one 
who is so rapidly becoming a recognised Master in his chosen depart- 
ment. Independent. 


18 


Publications of Dana and Company. 


OUR CHURCH MUSIC . — A Book for Pastors and People. 
By Richard Storks Willis. 12mo., pages. 

Price^ 50 cents. 

Mr. Willis in this work considers church music mainly as a part of 
worship, which is its true and original design, and not as a mere em 
tertainment interposed between the gra\rer offices of devotion and in- 
struction. He points out the objections to the common modes of conduct 
ing church music, stating them with a good deal of force and vivacity. 
* * * * Willis thinks that to make our music what it ought 

to be, “ we need to simplify the congregational style and amplify the 
choir style.” He gives some practical suggestions, well worthy of 
consideration, respecting the singing of children in churches, the 
position of the choir and organ, the importance of clergymen possess- 
ing some knowledge of music as an art, and the training of the youth 
of a congregation in singing. In a second part of his treatise, Mr. 
Willis considers what subjects are proper for hymns, the adaptation 
of hymns to music, the treatment of words, the expression given to 
them in singing, and the introduction of what he calls “ secular 
efforts” in church music. His views on all these subjects bear witness 
to his fine taste and careful study of the subject. Mr. Willis has 
given to both the scientific and practical part of music the study of 
years, and is entitled to speak on the subject with a tone of decision. 

New York Evening Post. 


The author is possessed of a profound scientific musical education, 
perfected in the best schools in Europe. Since his return home he 
has been engaged in editing the Musical World, a paper which has 
done more than all other publications together to diffuse and popu- 
larize a correct musical taste in this country. His journal is not con- 
fined, however, to musical criticism, but comprehends also every other 
branch of the Fine Arts, and is characterized by candid and intelligent 
exposition and elegant discussion. Mr. Willis has given much atten- 
tion to Church Music, and the just views so ably and earnestly 
enforced in the Musical World, are beginning to produce a practical 
impression that exhibits itself extensively in improvements introduced 
into that department of public worship. These he has embodied into 
a volume bearing the title “ Our Church Music : a book for Pastors 
and People.” It is full of interest to the pastor, the choir, and the 
congregation. New York Journal of Commerce. 

14 


Puhlications of Dana and Comimny. 


OUR CHURCH MUSIC.— H Book for Pastors and People. 
By Richard Stokrs Willis. 12?ro., 138 pages. , 

Price ^ 50 cents. 

If Dana <fe Co. can always find as good books to publish as this and 
the Rev. Mr. Coxe’s, noticed last Aveek, we think they will not fail of 
readers or purchasers. For our own part, we are free to confess that 
Ave i-urely meet Avitli a book that pleases us so well as this about Church 
Music. It is characterised by a thoi'ough knowledge of the subject, a 
nice appreciation of the fitness of things, if not by a deep religious 
feeling — all ruled and governed by sound common sense. The perusal 
of this Avork will be useful to all, and instruetiA'^e to the mass of 
readers. Clergymen, Choristers, Choirs, and Congregations, are all 
instructed, guided and assisted in their several I’elations to the musical 
worship of the Church. We command it to the popularity it so richly 
deserves. Calendar. 

Could every clergyman, every church warden and vestr3"man, every 
deacon and every elder, every chorister and every organist, in fact, 
every worshipper in every church in the land, be induced to read this 
book thoughtfully and act on it sensibly when it is read, a much 
needed reform in our Church Music would soon be begun and com- 
pleted. Mr. Willis opens his subject by taking his reader into a now- 
a-day church and shoAving him — what is too true — that with a very 
feAV exceptions, no one of those present during the musical acts of de- 
votion, is really and at heart engaged in them ; and the problem 
which he proposes to himself, and succeeds in solving, is, how eA^ery 
person in every congregation may be made, during the singing, an in- 
telligent worshipper. This he does in the course of an examination 
of the different styles of singing, of conducting choirs and placing 
organs and choir galleries, and above all, by submitting the versified 
Psalms andHj^mns in general use, to a searching and most destructive 
criticism. He maintains, and with a union of festhetic discrimina- 
tion and common sense, which is invincible, that most of these from 
their unemotional character, are absolutely Avorthless for the purpose 
of Avorship, and entirely unfitted to music as the vehicle of expre.ssion. 
RareU' do good taste, culture, sound judgment and indei)endence ap- 
])ear so blent as in the pages of this little volume, the literary merit 
of which is not the least of its claims upon attention; it abounds in 
true philosophical criticisms of both music and men- Those Avho 
control our Church Music must either co:ifoi‘m to the A'iews set fortli 
by Mr. Willis, or go on in blind, or open-eyed irreverence and absurdity. 

.Xcw York Courier and Enquirer. 

15 


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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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